


And So No One Becomes Someone

by MythicRhyvon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Faceless Arya, Family, Friendship, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, R plus L equals J, Returning Home, Smart Arya, faceless men - Freeform, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicRhyvon/pseuds/MythicRhyvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and the Dragon Queen has taken control of Westeros. A nameless girl must face her most difficult challenge yet when ordered to return to the country of her birth, reclaim her forgotten name and be the first Faceless Man to serve in light, rather than in shadows. Old friends become enemies, old enemies become family and family can become more unfamiliar than any stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

And So No One Becomes Someone

Chapter 1

Her feet were silent on the stone floor as she made her way through the House of Black and White. Her mind was numb with shock and uncertainty though none of it showed on her perfectly controlled face. She has a sack with her, containing naught but a few changes of cloths wrapped around a gleaming sword meant for a child and a few little odds and ends she had accumulated. She was dressed in clothes chosen specifically to keep her from attention- plain spun breeches and a tunic, clean enough and in good enough shape that she was not mistaken for a beggar, but not rich enough for anyone to bother her unnecessarily. On her person was a vast collection of steel, vials and stashes of coin. The vials contained a vast assortment of helpful goods, from healing tonics to silent poisons to concoctions that could keep a woman awake and alert for three whole days. 

She pushed her way through the doors and moved out into the bustling city of Braavos. She inhaled deeply, committing the scents of salt water, fish and exotic spices to memory. She had come to love this city, with the sounds of numerous languages being shouted, it’s crooked streets, colorful wares and exotic traders. 

It had been five long years since Arya Stark first stepped foot into the city that had become her home. She had changed in indescribable ways over the course of those years and not only from her training. She was now a woman grown, a woman of seven and ten who was still small and slender but now had the soft curves of adulthood. She had grown into her face, baby softness giving way to defined cheekbones, large smoky grey eyes and full lips. She had allowed her hair to grow as instructed by the waif so many years ago and it now reached her lower back, even bound as it was in a dark braid. 

Arya paused on her way through the city to purchase a selection of the exotic fruits and dried meats that she added to her pack. She was passing by her favorite stall, one that sold a dozen different types of meat skewers. Mentally shrugging she handed the man a bronze piece and picked a dark red skewer she knew was smoked boar belly seasoned heavily enough to bite the tongue. She had fallen in love with it the first time she tried it and kept finding herself back outside the stall. She wandered away, juice dripping down her knuckles and thought back to the conversation she’d had with the Kindly Man just an hour before. 

*** Flashback *** 

“Tell me, do you remember the conversation we had upon the completion of your first test?” The girl that stood beside him nodded, staring down into the every burning flame. 

“You told me that women do not usually make it through initiation. That our ability to give life, rather than just taking it away, means that we will never be able to devote ourselves fully to the Many Faced God.. That new life could interfere with giving the gift.” Her voice was smooth and even as she recalled the conversation that had originally caused her so much anger. 

“That is true. And you argued with me, like the willful child you were when you arrived.” Arya lifted her eyes to meet his. “Truly, you are still willful, you’ve simply learned to control it better.” Her eyes dropped back down and, though she had broken her habit of biting her lip years ago, the urge to do so came upon her suddenly and she felt her finger twitch by her side. The Kindly Man smiled. “Tell me, who are you, child?” 

“I am no one.” She stated calmly. 

“Who are you?” He asked again. 

“No one.” 

“Are you Cat of the Canals? Are you Alyssia the Courtesan? Meerna the Tavern Wench?” He paused slightly. “Arya, of house Stark?”

“I can be anyone the Many Faced God requires me to be. But I am no one.”

The kindly man turned towards and watched her for several long, silent moments. “The Many Faced God requires you to become someone now. You must become Arya, you must now remember what that means. The Dragon Queen has taken Kings Landing. She is now settling in to bring the rest of Westeros under her rule. You will go to her, you will tell her that the House of Black and White endorses her endeavors and that you will be our contact should she ever have need of our services in ways you are unable to perform yourself. You will sit on her council and, should she need your service, you will obey her.” 

Her eyes jumped back to his in surprise. The faceless men were going to openly endorse a political entity? Granted, the fact that they charged so much for their services meant that they were always going to be involved in some politic or other, but to openly take a stance? It was unheard of, the Faceless operated from the silence and the shadows, they did not get involved in the games. Still, she knew better than to question her objectives. Instead she chose a question she knew may get an answer. 

“Why must I become Arya to support the Dragon Queen? Can I not simply remain faceless and offer help discreetly?”

“You cannot. It is Arya who holds the blood of kings, Arya who grew up in a Noble household and knows how to play the game. The Dragon Queen will be hard enough to manage without adding to her initial distrust by refusing to identify yourself.” 

“And why should she believe that I am who I say? Arya Stark has not been seen in in years, though imposters have tried to claim the name before.” 

“Do not worry about that, all will fall into place. Just be honest with the Dragon Queen and follow her commands, even if you do not agree with them. All will be well. A ship sails at high noon. You will be on board. A man will meet you once you arrive in the city, he will fill you in on anything he thinks you need to know. He will remain in the city until you are accepted by the Queen and then for a further three months. He will be your contact should you need one. At the end of the three months you will be alone, though you can expect check ins every six months. 

“How long will this assignment last?” She asked after a pause. 

The kindly man smiled sadly. “Until the Queen rules no longer.” 

No One… Arya, nodded slowly, overwhelmed. 

“Valar Morghulis, child.” 

“Valar Dohaeris.” She said back automatically as she stood from her seat, bowing her head slightly before taking her leave.

*** End Flashback *** 

What did it mean to become Arya Stark again? She was to declare herself a faceless man, sit on the Dragon Queens council and be a highborn lady? In her experience the three were mutually exclusive and to be all three at once? There were bound to be complications. And what of her lost family? As she became no-one she had to force herself not to seek out news of Westeros, to walk away if she heard men taking about the war or the Starks. Were any still alive? She honestly did not know. Did she want them to be? Of course, them being alive would make her job that much more difficult if she were to serve in Kings Landing. It would be an emotional attachment she had not allowed since she had left. Still, she could not bring herself to wish them dead. 

She had reached the docks by then and saw a familiar ship in port. It was a trade vessel from Volantes, long and sleek and one of the fastest in the free cities. It was one often used by the faceless men as it cut travel time nearly in half, weather be good. She paused to toss away the empty stick from her meal, licking the remaining juice from her fingers with appreciation and then made her way on board, feet swift and sure despite the rocking. 

The crew was bustling to get ready for departure and the desk was chaos. She made her way gracefully to the captain- identifiable both by face and by the way he stood shouting orders even as he twinned a thick and heavy rope. She came to stand by his shoulder and greeted him with familiarity. “Valar Morghulis, Captain Dustain.” 

He turned quickly and then smiled. “Ahhh, little Cat. Valar Dohaeris. I heard we would be shuttling someone with us. I take it that is you?” Arya nodded. “Well take your bag down, you know the cabin, and then come back. We could use you in the sails!” He let out a scratchy laugh, nodding at the boy moving slowly above their heads. 

Scant minutes later her bag had been stowed and she was scaling the mast, securing sails and doing anything else needed. It was not her first time aboard this ship and she was familiar with the work. It gave her something to focus on besides her upcoming mission and she dove in gratefully.  
****  
The journey passed quickly. She used the time to try and fall back into the mindset of Arya but it was difficult. She was not the same girl that she had been then and reverting to that girl would be forsaking all of her training. Arya had been an angry, half wild little girl with little regard for rules or expectations. No One was disciplined, she had learned to use everything to her advantage- her feminism, her petite height, her wit, her intelligence, and her strong emotions. 

Though truly, she though, cocking her head to the side, all of that was just part of growing. Becoming Arya did not mean reverting to a child’s mentality but rather allowing her personality to come back to the forefront, to stop stamping down on all of her urges that were not appropriate for a faceless man to display. She could be both Arya and herself as she had was now- matured, vicious and jaded but still able to fell a thrill in her belly at the prospect of a good spar. She supposed it would work out once she arrived, one way or another. 

The days blurred in a cycle of working from sunup to sundown, pausing to drink the generous store of ale, play dice and trade raunchy jokes before sleeping and doing it all over again the next day. Before she knew it land was visible on the horizon and the captain was calling to prepare for port. They arrived in Kings Landing as the sun was just setting, a month after setting off. Arya was hesitant to step back into the city that she hadn’t seen since her father’s murder and tried to stay aboard to help unload the trade goods. The captain chased her off good naturedly, reminding her they would be docked for a fortnight before returning to the free cities. 

She made her way slowly into the city, wanting to wrinkle her nose at the overwhelming stench of shite. She passed through flea bottom, noting the various scorch mark and husked out buildings- remanence of Queen Cerci’s madness before she was she was fled back to Casterly Rock, under the misguided notion it would keep her safe. She finally reached the inn, noting with some surprise that it was bustling with people, nearly all the tables full and serving wenches dancing around each other as they served food and ale. 

She was able to secure a room and a meal easily enough, despite the bustle, and then went straight to bed, stripping down and falling naked onto the lumpy mattress, fingers curled loosely around the dagger under her pillow. 

The following day she dressed back in her plain cloths along with her cloak, drawing the hood up to conceal her features. She spent the day relearning the city, finding all the alleys and out of the way nooks she remembered from her youth, tracking the changing of the guards outside the keep and listening to the gossip of the patrons surrounding her. She returned to the inn again that night, newly purchased packages stuffed into the sack she had taken with her that day. 

She bolted the door to her room and then pulled them out. Thick black breeches came out first. She ran her fingers over the fabric, so different from the thin, breathable fabrics of Braavos and the other free cities. Next she pulled out a new pair of soft, knee high, black boots that had just enough sole to protect her feet without the weight or thickness to cause unnecessary noise while walking. She had been pleased with that find, having had difficulty in the past finding shoes suitable for her needs. 

A beautiful leather tunic came next, though it was not something purchased that day, or at all as it had been gifted to her. It was definitely made to accentuate a woman’s figure and showed just a hint of the tops of her breasts and highlighted her lithe stomach and the curve of her hips. It fell just above the tops of her thighs and was made of overlapping scale-like pieces of leather, each one with invisible steel bones sewn inside creating a unique combination of leather and chainmail armor. It had one sleeve that ran the length of her left arm and just brushed against the back of her hand. It was perfect for concealing her finger knife and could also act as a bow guard, though she hardly needed one. Her right arm was left bare, the sleeve a scant two inches wide, leaving her collar bone and shoulder exposed as well, accentuating her graceful neckline. It was a stormy grey, a couple of shades darker than her eyes, emphasizing their unique color. Hidden amongst the scales were also several little pockets and straps to secure her tools. It was her favorite possession, aside from the Needle she had not allowed herself to think about in years. 

She lay the cloths over the back of a wooden chair and then stripped down just past midnight, forcing her mind to settle and fell into a deep sleep. 

***

Four scant hours later, when the sun was just starting to peek through the window, Arya startled awake. She did not move nor open her eyes, she did not even allow her breathing to change. She stayed perfectly still and used her other senses to take in the room. Faintly, very faintly, she heard the smallest rustle of breath from before the window. Having located the disturbance, and not finding anyone else in the room she rolled smoothly into action. In one fluid movement she grabbed for the dagger she kept under her pillow, only for her hand to find cold cloth rather the steel. Without pausing she instead rolled low and grabbed a second blade from where it was tucked under the bed, before standing up and taking a quick step to press the cold steel to the tender neck of the unfamiliar man standing in her room. She did not take any notice of the fact that she was still naked as she turned him around and pressed him back into the wall, the smallest drop of blood beading up on his skin. 

“A girl has gotten quick.” The man murmured, lips twitching into a familiar smile despite the unfamiliar face. 

“Jaqen?” She questioned, already knowing the answer and pulling her blade away. “Are you my contact then? This is where you’ve been the past year?” 

“Yes, lovely girl. A man is here to fill you in on what you need to know.” She gave him a cool look when he pulled her missing dagger out and began dancing it through his fingers. She didn’t understand how he could still get close enough to literally reach under her head while she slept without triggering her instincts. 

“I’m listening.” She stated as she moved over to the cold but clean basin of water left for her the night before and began washing herself, unabashed by her company. 

“The queen is surrounded by unsullied guards. One called Grey Worm is always by her side, along with the old knight Jorah and her translator Missandei. She also has her Queensguard. Sir Jaime Lannister is the captain.”

“Lannister?” Arya spoke up in surprise. “She’s allowed the man who stabbed her father in the back to lead her guard?” 

“They have reached an understanding.” She could hear the mocking amusement in his dark tone. “His brother, Tyrion Lannister, acts as Hand of the Queen. He has her ear and if you are able to gain his trust than you will gain hers too.” He paused longer, as though choosing his words. “She is betrothed to her nephew, Jon Targaryen, whom she discovered during the war. They are to wed in three moons time.” 

“Do you foresee a problem with this marriage?” Arya asked, perking up at the odd tone. 

“Not with the marriage, no. You will likely recognize him, however, so do not allow yourself to be surprised.” 

Arya turned away from the basin and started dressing. She had just started to reach behind herself to tug her laces tight to secure the shirt when she felt a hand lightly brush against her bare right shoulder. Goosebumps immediately raised along her arms and she felt a faint flicker of fire warm her stomach as memories of similar touches teased at her mind. His hand ran slowly and faintly down her shoulder and he grabbed the ties himself. “Thank you.” She said softly, pulling away and turning to face him. “Is there anything else?” 

Jaqen shook his head. “You already know about the court here. There is nothing new I could tell you.” She nodded and finished dressing. Her boots were pulled on and a dagger slid tucked away, her other weapons and vials were tucked away in the shirt and she pulled her loose of its braid, combing it quickly with her fingers and then re-braiding it effortlessly. She strapped Needle to her belt, feeling slightly foolish carrying the tiny sword but knowing it would be needed. 

“Would you care to break fast with me? She asked, pulling her thin black cloak over her shoulders but leaving the hood down. 

“I have to return to my duty. Mayhap another morn. Farewell for now, lovely girl.” Arya simply nodded her head, knowing better than to question the man and left him behind as she made her way downstairs. She purchased a roll and an apple, which she took with her to eat as she slowly made her way up to the keep to join the common folk vying for a chance to address the queen. She raised her hood then and waited patiently. 

She remained in the crowd as they were ushered into the throne room and as the queen and her entourage entered. The crowd all fell to their knees with bowed heads, but she remained standing. Her eyes widened just the slightest bit, hidden by her cloak, as the queens betrothed entered and took a stand to her right and a step back. Everything about the man was familiar- the wild dark curls framing his face, the smoky grey eyes that matched her own so well, the way he stood and moved- everything. She knew this man, this had to be her brother. Jon Targaryen. She had to stop from shaking her head in amused disbelief. No wonder her father had refused to tell Jon of his mother- a lost Targaryen would not have survived under Roberts rule. She was grateful that Jaqen had warned her however much it lessened the shock. 

Arya pulled her eyes away and back to the queen. She had drawn their attention by not bowing and the Queensguard were moving towards her. The queen stopped them with a gesture, seating herself on the iron throne, Jon coming to stand a step to the right and behind her. The white blonde head tilted curiously as she took her in. Arya moved forward then, taking the gesture as unasked for permission and coming to a stop at the bottom of the dais. She dipped her head respectful before beginning her address. 

Her perfectly accented high valerian was not what the queen was expecting to hear, if her raised brows were any indication. “Greetings Daenerys, of House Targaryen, first of your name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and of the First Men; Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and protector of the Seven Kingdoms. I come bearing tidings from the faceless men of Braavos.”

The unsullied guards immediately surrounded the queen, forming a solid wall of flesh and steel, while the rest of the room buzzed in confusion. She let a small smirk curl the edge of her mouth. “Do not fear. Had I come to bring you the gift you would already know death.” That teasing statement did not seem to help her guards relax and in fact caused the white cloaks to move forward until they surrounded her in a loose circle, hands resting on the hilts of their swords despite their lack of understanding, reacting solely on the tenseness of the unsullied. 

“The Many Faced God validates your rule and has sent me to you as a show of support. I shall remain by your side, protect you from your foes, counsel you in your rule and use my skills at your command.” She crossed her right arm over her chest and bowed her covered head again in respect. 

The queen stood from her seat, moving forward despite the unspoken protest from her guards and stepped through the line of unsullied. “And what” she started, voice low and cool, speaking in Westrosi, rather than Valerian as she had done, “makes you believe I require the help of your god, or that I would allow a faceless man to protect or advise me? You are too bold. You do not bow before the queen you are here telling me you serve?” 

“I bow only to death.” Arya replied, voice unchanged, though she followed in changing languages feeling another spark of amusement at the surprise visible on the queens face yet again. She really did need to learn to control her expressions better, though Arya supposed she was probably better than most. “Not to any man or woman that walks this earth.” 

“Though you state your Many Faced God sent you to me to command?”

“Even so.” 

“I will not have a nameless, faceless entity serving me. You will reveal yourself now.” The queen commanded. 

Arya bowed her head mockingly again, reaching up to release her cloak and letting it fall to the ground. “You will find that I am neither nameless nor faceless. Though I have gone by many names and faces, I was born Arya Stark, daughter to Eddard Stark and to Catelyn Stark of House Tully, daughter of Winterfell and descendent of the First Men.” Purple met grey and refused to look away, even has the voices rose into a roar around them. 

*** To Be Continued ***


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The volume of the room continued to rise until people were shouting to be heard over one another. Jon was arguing with his aunt, though Arya could not hear over the din or see his mouth to read his lips. The queen finally raised her hand for silence and the room slowly fell quiet. “Clear the room. If anyone has an urgent issue that cannot wait then they may make their way to the antechamber, though it may be several hours before we reconvene. Otherwise, open court will resume on the morrow. Thank you.” 

It took several long minutes and a lot of grumbling, but eventually Arya was left alone with Jon, the queen and her many guards. “Please, follow me.” Arya followed the couple a dozen paces behind as they exited the throne room and arrived at a smaller meeting room. A long table was set in the center, with several smaller tables dotted around holding wine and glasses and a fire burned brightly to one side. The queen took a seat at the head of the table with Jon seating himself to her right. Arya hesitated but sat when gestured to the seat at the opposite end of the table. Still, she held herself stiffly and kept her chair pushed far enough away from the table to make an easy exit should it become necessary. The Queensguard and unsullied took alternating stances around the exterior of the room, with Grey Worm remaining directly beside the queen, hand casually resting on his sheathed weapon. 

The queen studied her calming while Jon fought not to fidget at her side. “Tell me, Arya of House Start,” She finally began, “how you went from evading capture in the Red Keep to training with the faceless men in Braavos? Though I admit I am not overly familiar with their order, I find it hard to believe that they would allow a child of ten and two to join their ranks.”   
“I did not arrive in Braavos when I was ten and two. I did not join the faceless until I was ten and four.” 

“Oh? The question stands. Explain to me how it is possible for you to be Arya.” 

The door opened before she could answer and several people entered the room, seating themselves silently around the table. Arya looked back to the queen, mouth closed. 

“This is my small council. Mayhap you are familiar with some of them. All here have my utmost trust.” Arya thought that was a rather foolish statement, or simply a lie. Kings and Queens do not tend last long without a healthy dose of mistrust. “This is Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen and Master of Coin; Asha Greyjoy, Master of Ships; Varys, Master of Whispers; Jon Umber, Master of Law, Jaime Lannister, head of the Queensguard and Samwell Tarly, our head Maester. Now, you were about to tell us a story?” 

Arya took a deep breath, forcefully shedding her reluctance to revisit old, half-forgotten and buried memories. “I was with my dancing master the day my father was seized-“Jon looked ready to cut her off but she gestured sharply at him, earning an indignant look from the man. “Not the normal type of dancing. It was Braavosi Water Dancing. Syrio Forel was my master. Father said if I was going to have a sword then I may as well learn to use it.” She paused, standing from her seat and moving quickly over to the nearest table and pouring herself a generous glass of wine. A smirk curled her lips when the guards tensed and took a half-step towards her. She sat again, sipping slowly at the bitter drink as she set the pitcher she had brought with her down on the table. 

“Syrio was able to hold against the guards that were sent to capture me. He told me to run. When I arrived at the stables everyone was dead- all of fathers men. They were strewn across the floor in one big puddle of blood.” She paused, thinking briefly of the boy she had killed that day but decided not to mention him. “I ran and hid in Flea Bottom until I heard they were executing father.” The men at the table all flinched when she told them where she hid but she paid them no mind. Flea Bottom was hardly the worst place she’s been. “I made my way to the square and climbed onto the statue of Balor. Father saw me when he was lead through the crowd.” She took another long sip. “I tried to get to him but a man named Yoren grabbed me and turned me so I couldn’t watch.” She cleared her throat and the sound was rougher than she would have liked. “Yoren was a recruiter for the nights watch and was going to take me to the wall to my brother.” She looked at Jon to see a pained look on his face before looking back at the queen. “He cut my hair and dressed me as a boy... But we were captured by goldcloaks and taken to Harrenhal before we could make it to the safety of the North.” 

She paused and let another smirk twist her lips, emptying her glass and then refilling it from the glass she had brought back to the table with her. “I met Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal. He made me his cupbearer.” Her eyes flashed to Tyrion and then Jaime as they looked at her in disbelief. “To this day I don’t know if he knew who I was. I think he may have- He definitely didn’t believe the story I told him. It wasn’t so bad, not until I heard that he was going to attack Robb.”

“One of the men who had been with us on our way to the Wall was a faceless man. I saved him from burning during a skirmish- he had been locked in a wagon with two other men. He told me that I had taken three gifts from the God of Death that day and so I owed him three lives in return. He told me to give him any name and the person would know death. That is a lot of power to give to a little girl, though I hardly knew what to do with it at the time. I used my last death to force him to help us escape the city.” 

“We were later captured by the Brotherhood Without Borders, who were, ironically enough, the group that the guards had been searching for when they took us to Harrenhal in the first place.” She cleared her throat again, taking another sip. “The Hound was brought in as a captive at one point and helpfully informed the brotherhood who I was. He eventually won trial by combat and was released. During my stay I learned how… unsavory, the brotherhood could be. I managed to escape from them but ended up captured by Hound when I ran into him again.”

“He was going to take me to my mother and Robb, ransom me or some such thing. We arrived just in time to see the Red Wedding.” She paused longer, remembering that horrific night, remembering the grotesque picture of Grey Wind’s head sewn onto her brothers body. “I wanted to go inside to see if mother was still alive but he wouldn’t let me. Instead he took me to the Vale to my aunt Lysa.” She raised her eyebrow as her lips curled with morbid amusement. “We were told upon our arrival that she was dead. Death… does seem to be catching, does it not?” Her voice was tinged with mocking.   
Another sip of wine and she refilled the glass again. “We left the Eyrie and ran into a woman called Breanne of Tarth and her squire.” She looked over to meet Jaime’s eyes. “She tried to tell me that she served my mother and that she wanted to take me to safety. She had a Lannister sword on her belt- a great thing with a golden lions head. She said she’d been given it by Jaime Lannister to help her fulfil her oath to my mother. The hound didn’t trust her word and they ended up fighting. He was injured and fell down a hill but I hid myself away until she gave up and left. When I went down to him he asked me to give him a quick death…”

Jon finally butted in, despite the sharp look he received from the queen. “What kind of man would ask a child to take a life? Was he not capable of opening his own neck?” He demanded angrily. 

Arya looked at him steadily. “He would not have been my first kill, or even my second or third.” She let that hover in the room for a long moment but did not elaborate. Job looked ready to speak up again but the queen gestured at her to continue instead. He slouched back slightly into his chair and did not look away from the girl who had once been his sister. “All the same,” she continued finally, “I refused. And then I walked away and left him to his death, whenever it should arrive.” 

“I eventually found myself at a port, one with a ship ready to make sail. When I left the company of the faceless man originally he gave me a coin. He told me it was of great value and should I ever have need of him again to give it to any man from Braavos and they would take me to him. I tried to use it to buy passage to the Wall,” her eyes flicked to Jon’s stony face quickly, “but he said it was only good for passage to Braavos. I got onboard and the rest was, as they say, history.” She drained what was remaining of her glass, meeting the queens’ eyes boldly. 

“Is there anyone who would be able to confirm your story?” The Queen asked after a moment. 

“Probably not anyone left alive, though I do not know that for sure. I do have this, however.” She pulled the small sword free of its scabbard only to have half a dozen guards pull their own swords on her. She rolled her eyes at them, and handed the blade hilt first to the one closest to her. “If you’d be so kind as to hand that to your future king?” The guard hesitated but did so after a nod from the queen.   
“This is Arya’s sword.” Jon stated confidently after looking it over. 

The Queen nodded again, as if she had expected it. “So tell me Lady Arya, for a faceless man to be able to take the face of someone else- must the previous owner die?” 

Arya hesitated, eyes darting once quickly around at the people sitting around her. All eyes were trained on her curiously, awaiting her answer. She couldn’t’ blame them, not much was known of her order outside their own walls and members. She wondered how the Queen knew to ask that question, or if it had a coincidence before she nodded just once, shifting back in her chair and crossing her left ankle casually over her right knee. 

“Is it not then possible for someone to have acquired Arya’s face at the same time that they acquired her sword?” She asked, turning to her nephew. 

“And when should I have acquired the story?” Arya asked with a tilted head, drawing those purple eyes back to herself. 

“Who’s to say you’re not simply gifted at spinning tales, with there being no one who can confirm or deny your story?” 

Arya let out a gust of breath and iciness frosted the queen’s expression. “Must we do this? Fine, Jon, ask me a question. Something only I would know.” Her voice was cool and almost cruelly mocking as she made her demand, turning to stare at her brother. 

Jon furrowed his brows, turning to lock eyes with his aunt, who nodded her acceptance after a pause. He looked down at the table, stretching his mind back trying to think of such a question. “Well you apparently already know who gifted the sword.” He stated before pausing once again. Something only she would know was more difficult than one would imagine. Growing up in Winterfell meant they were always surrounded- by handmaids and Septas, cooks and guards, visiting nobles and stable boys- there were always people around. He finally grabbed onto one memory, one when Arya was only eight and the night was unseasonably cool, leaving a damp chill in the air. She had snuck out of her chambers in the dead of the night and somehow managed to make it to his own without anyone catching her.   
She’d told him she couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t recall the reason beyond excitement over some visiting party meant to come in the following day, but she’d practically been bouncing on the edge of his bed. She’d pestered and poked at him until he sat up and given her his attention and then she demanded he tell her a story. He’d groaned at her at the time, even tried to get her to go wake Robb instead, but she was determined. 

He’d finally caved and told her, in a quiet voice still raspy with sleep, the story of the Children of the Forest, how they had been greenseers and had carved the weirwood trees. He told her of how the first men had come to Westeros and of the war that followed. He’d told her how the two peoples eventually made piece only for war to break out again when the Andals arrived and immediately began burring all the weirwood groves. He told her how the Andals spent the next centuries conquering all of Westeros- all but the North. He told her how the surviving Children of the Forest had gone farther and farther north, only to later being blocked when the Wall was erected. In the darkest hour he whispered that they still lived there- with their huge weirwood groves and their greenseers, in the deepest reaches of the frost. 

She’d hung on every word, eyes wide and huge. She’d settled and stilled by the time the First Men entered the story and didn’t move until his voice had trailed off sometime later. She’d whispered to him then how she’d travel past the wall one day and find the Children of the Forest. It was going to be her life’s great mission, and she’d meet wildlings and ride a direwolf and sleep under the greatest weirwood of all. He’d smiled at her then and quietly vowed to go with her. She’d gone to bed not long after but it was a memory he’d thought of often- the first time he’d gone past the wall, the first time he ran into a wildling, when he was his happiest with Ygritte and could just imagine how much Arya would like her… It was one of his favorite memories of her- happy, carefree and adventurous in her youth. 

Jon cleared his throat, pouring his own glass of wine and taking a sip to rid himself of the scratchiness he could feel creeping up his throat. He glanced at his aunt once more and then turned to look at the girl who could be his sister. “A couple of years before you left for Kings Landing, you came to my chambers in the middle of the night, woke me up and made a true pest of yourself,” His voice started out thick and rough but smoothed the longer he talked, “You refused to let me go back to sleep until I told you a story. I must have talked for an hour but you were so enthralled I didn’t want to cut it off. When the story was finished you told me that you were going to do something- that you’d devote your life to making it happen. I told you I’d go with you and that we’d do it together. What was it?” 

Arya stared hard at him. She kept her face blank but she could feel herself trying to frown. Her foot twitched and she curled her toes to prevent it happening again. Was this a test? She strained her mind trying to remember the single instance he was talking about but she could only recall small flashes of time spent in his chambers. He’d tell her stories as often as she would demand them, which had happened frequently. He’d always been her favorite person and she’d spent as much time with him as she’d been allowed when they were children. He’d never complained- was the only one to not complain about her presence, she remembered. 

She allowed her eyes to drop as she tried harder and harder but the memory wouldn’t come. Grey jumped back to grey as Jon shifted back into his chair, seeming to slump under the weight of a dragon while somehow still keeping his spine straight. “I don’t… She trailed off, curling her hands together. Out of sight of everyone she harshly pinched the tip of her right pinky, over the upper part of her nail. The sharp flair of pain focused her mind. “I don’t remember that. Perhaps a different question?” She requested calmly, though her heart was beating harshly against her breast. 

Jon shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “No, we’re done here for now.” His voice was harsh and deep and he pushed himself up out of his chair and strode quickly from the room. The queen stayed sitting, dainty hands crossed on the table in front of her. “Sir Jaime, you and your men escort the Lady Arya to a chamber fitting to her.. Status. I want two men guarding her door at all time and another two stationed at each end of the hallway. Pair one of your gold cloaks with one of the unsullied for each team. And make sure her window doesn’t open.” She rose gracefully to her feet and followed her nephew’s path out the door. 

Arya remained frozen in her seat for another long moment, heart pounding harder than ever and mind racing. What did this mean? Obviously she was a prisoner, but would she be given a second chance to prove herself? She WAS Arya Stark, proving that had never been one of the issues she’d taken into serious consideration. It suddenly washed over her how her physical looks changing would be the least of her problems. She’d been a child when she’d left Winterfell, had been a child the last time she’d seen her mother or Jon or Robb or the boys. A slightly older child the last time she’d seen her sister and her father. 

She tried to bring her mother’s face to mind but could only draw the image of red hair and blue eyes. Bran and Rickon were blurs of baby softness, brown hair and energy. Did she even remember who Arya Stark was? She’d seen the hurt in Jon’s eyes- that memory had been important to him. How could she not remember something so important? 

She was pulled out of her spiraling thoughts by a throat clearing above her. “Let’s go, Lady Arya.” Jaime Lannister said, voice just a little too soft. She immediately straightened, shocked by the hint of pity from the man she’d spent years cursing. She drew her shoulders back and allowed her leg to slide smoothly down to the floor. She stood in one graceful motion, the guards instinctively taking a step back and gripping tighter to their weapons not even giving her the flare of amusement it normally would. She kept her face perfectly still, locking down on her turmoil with a ruthless effectiveness that only came from years of practice. She linked her hands daintily across her stomach, truly moving with the grace of a noble as she left the room, enclosed as she was on all sides by leather and steel. 

She paid no heed to the staring masses they passed on their journey, to a tower entrance and then up and up until they finally came out at the top of a tower. The stairway gave to an open space with a single door. The front two guards took stance on either side of the door while a third pulled the heavy wood open. Jaime led her into a large open room, with a simple bed, writing table and wardrobe. Four large windows looked out in any direction. She moved further into the room, turning to look at her jailor. He nodded his head at the window across from him. “I know the Queen specified your chambers being in a hall, but I think this will suit you just fine. Even if you somehow manage to break through the glass without alerting your guard, you will not survive the drop. This tower was made specifically to be unscaleable. I suggest you rest and prepare, your journey must have been long.”

He bowed slightly to her and took a step backwards and out the door instead of turning his back to her. Despite herself, the corner of her lip curled in appreciative amusement. Smart man. She turned in a 360 degree circle before sighing quietly. She really needed to start better preparing for all eventualities, though in her defense, she was usually pretty good at guessing how an event would play out. She wasn’t enjoying the start of this mission and she really wasn’t enjoying the rush of emotions the whole thing was stirring up in her. She’d thought she was better than that.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Arya made a slow circuit around the room, closely examine the structure of the windows and the walls for any possible forgotten servant passages. She peered closely out all four of the windows, judging their distance to the lower rooves of the keep and which part of the city they faced. Once satisfied she said down on the bed, folding her arms behind her head and crossing her ankles causally, slanted just enough for her heals to be over the edge of the coverings. 

As she expected, a light knock came some twenty minutes later before the door swung open and two guards escorted a young maid in. The girl carried a tray holding of a soft looking bread roll and a few small chunks of cheese, along with a small bowl of broth and a flagon of water. One of the guards carried her forgotten cloak and dropped it carelessly on the foot of her bed. The mousy looking girl curtsied nervously as she set it down on the empty writing table and then quickly took her leave, wringing her hands as she hurried away. 

Arya remained still until she heard the thud signaling the lock was once more in place and then jumped silently to her feet. She hurriedly pulled a tiny vial of brownish powder from one of the hidden compartments of her shirt and sprinkled it over the contents of her plate. The particles dissolved harmlessly, signaling the food was free of the most common poisons and serums. It was an endlessly useful mixture created by the alchemists at the House of Black and White. Each ingredient was harmless itself, but would react visibly when paired a specific agent or ingredient. What reaction occurred could tell her what class of elixir had been added. For example, had the water changed to a yellow color it would have signaled the addition of a truth potion- the darker yellow, the stronger the mix used, due to a reaction between the powered eel liver in the powder and the liquid extracted from the poppy flower that was the core ingredient in most truth potions. 

Because nothing turned up she poured some of the iced water into the broth, cooling the steaming liquid down enough to tilt her head back and empty the bowl in one long drink. After she tore the bread in half and started eating it as she moved back across the room to her chosen window. Jon had kept needle, but no one had the foresight to strip her of her other weapons and so she pulled a long thin dagger from her right boot and immediately began working the point under the metal frame that held the window in place. 

It took time- longer than she was comfortable with, but the best window also happened to be the one closest to the door and she did not want the guards to hear what she was doing. Once she had loosened the frame she was able to carefully pull the heavy metal and glass sheet forward into the room, grunting under the weight as she set it carefully on the floor. 

She dropped to the end of the bed and hastily pulled her left boot off revealing a smooth grey rope coiled around her ankle and part way up her calf. She unraveled it with an ease born of practice and then quickly pulled the boot back on. She paused to stuff the remaining roll in her mouth and to pull the cloak around her shoulders before heading back to the window and tossing one end of the rope out. She tied the remaining end to the heavy bed frame, sparing a thought of appreciation for the strength and durability of the thin line before she moved over to straddle the window frame. 

She glanced around again, taking in the sparkling waves she could see behind the keep and judging her distance to the roof below. She wrapped the top of the rope three times around her armored arm and the gripped it firmly as she let her weight shift from the stone to the air. She used her protected arm as a makeshift pulley and then let herself drop into a rapid but controlled fall. A few feet above the hard surface she stopped herself and then let go completely to drop silently onto the roof. From there it was easy to climb over the edge of the building and make her way to the ground using the sporadic window ledges and loosened bricks. She stepped back, blocking the sun from her eyes with a hand as she looked back up at the now open window. 

The ropes coloring made it nearly invisible against the stone and the missing window was only visible from the harbor. That, along with the knowledge that the narrow path she stood on was rarely ever used, gave her confidence that her journey would go smoothly. She pulled her hood back over her head and then made her way quickly but casually out the gates and back into the main city. Her first stop was back to the inn to retrieve her pack before they gave away her room. Next she made her way to a couple of out of the way shops to purchase some supplies she hadn’t before but would need. Those stops were also quick and within about twenty minutes she had accomplished the main objective of her journey. 

Pleased, she decided to make one final stop a pub off the harbor. She gave herself a thick Braavosi brogue as she ordered a pint of ail and settled down at a table out of the way but central enough to hear nearly all of the conversations occurring in the building. By the time she had nearly finished the bitter drink she had learned several interesting tidbits, including the fact that there was a wager on whether or not she’d be accepted as the long lost Arya Stark. There was a second on possible outcomes and included fall out from both being accepted and being declared a fraud. More usefully, she’d learned that the Queen and King-To-Be were slowly winning the peoples approval and gaining their trust. From the same conversation, she’d learned that there was a small resistance movement growing to the west. 

She had little but dregs left and was straining to hear a whispered conversation taking place in the far corner when the door swung open and a familiar blonde head stalked in. Arya immediately looked down at her glass, silently cursing him for choosing this pub out of all his options in the city and then waited for him to walk past her. As soon as he was clear she finished her last mouthful and then stood casually, leaving a bronze coin behind on the table and exiting the building. 

She’d hardly gone a dozen steps into the bustle of the city before a strong hand gripped around her upper arm and jerked her around. She silently cursed herself again, even as she moved with the motion, stepping into the much larger man behind her. Once close enough she made a cone shape with the fingers of her free hand and drove them harshly into his side, pulling a pained grunt from him and causing him to bow over slightly. She twisted her foot behind his and stepped into him again, causing him to trip over her and nearly lose his balance. 

Still, Jaime Lannister was considered one of the best fighters in Westeros for a reason and he managed to keep both his feet and his grip despite her efforts. “I recognize your cloak.” He growled out, pained and winded. “How the hell did you get out here?” He demanded, shaking her slightly. 

Annoyance flared in her, both at the shake and at the fact that her head barely reached his shoulders and so she had to tilt her head back to see him. Her hood came slightly lose when she did so, but she wasn’t too concerned considering he already knew who she was. Instead of answering she brought her knee swiftly up into his stomach, winding him farther and causing his grip to loosen just enough for her to be able to twist her arm free. She turned to flee, cursing out loud this time when his hand shot out and managed to grab a handful of hood and hair underneath and jerked her hard enough that she ended up lying on the dusty ground, . 

She threw her weight back, flipping herself over and swiping her leg across the ground to try and topple him. Her hair had come half out of its braid, thanks to his grab, and she pushed the wild strands back with a huff. She straightened slowly, grey eyes meeting green as they squared each other up. She shot him a sudden smirk and a wink a split second before she turned and jumped to the side just before a horse drawn carriage came trotting by. He tried to follow her but was cut off. She was gone when he could see again. 

She took to the shadows and sprinted as quickly as she could back to the keep, dodging people as she went and cursing every time she had to pause to hide. What felt like an eternity later she reached her starting point and started climbing her way back up to the roof. It became easier once she reached her rope and she scaled the tower nimbly. Once back indoors she hastily untied her rope and tucked it under the mattress, unwilling to take the time to recoil it just then. 

From her bag she pulled out a large vial of clear gelatinous goop that she spread around the outer frame of the window. She corked it and tossed it back into the bag before she hefted the window up and wiggled it back into place. The glue like substance would keep the heavy thing in place but would not fully dry, allowing her to remove it again with the right type of pressure. Once finished with that she pulled her cloak back off and laid it back over the end of her bed in roughly the same position it had been in, tucked her bag into the furthest corner under her bed and freed her hair the rest of the way leaving it to fall in messy curls down her back. Finally, she plucked the chunks of cheese off the tray with one hand and took the glass of water with the other. 

When the door swung open harshly mere moments later she was casually reclined on her bed nibbling on a piece of cheese with her half empty water glass tucked in between her thighs. She let surprise overtake her expression as the Queen, Jon, Jaime and a full guard came storming into the room. “Your Grace!” She exclaimed, trying hard to keep the gloat out of her voice at Jaime’s disbelieving face. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again today if I’m honest!” Jaime met her eyes and she let the smallest smirk curl her lips. 

The group came to a stop in half circle around where she lounged. She sat up slowly, stretching slightly as her feet found the floor. “Is it time for round two of the questioning?” She asked once she had finished. The queen’s eyes narrowed into a glare before she glanced sideways at Jon. The two locked eyes for a moment before Jon took another half step forward.  
“How did you leave the tower?” He asked, voice tight and controlled. 

“Leave the tower?” She exclaimed. “I’ve just been sitting here enjoying my meal! Honestly Jon, I just saw you hardly more than an hour ago. Where could I have gone?” She asked blinking up at him, innocence practically wafting off her. 

“Search the room for an exit.” Her brother commanded, tilting his head slightly but not breaking eye contact with her. “Check for old servant passages and look under the rug for a trap door.” The guards fanned out as ordered and started checking over every inch of the rounded room. 

“I found a bag My Lord!” One exclaimed, pulling it loose from its hiding place. She did not allow her expression to change but was glad she’d tucked the rope under the mattress and not just under the bed or in the bag. She doubted they’d have let her keep it. 

“Empty it.” Jon commanded coldly. The guard did so, creating a pile of fabric, glass, steel and random odds and end that she knew would not make sense to them. Jon started rummaging through the pile with the toe of his boot, spreading her belongings out until all were scattered and visible on the stone. 

“I had no idea the people of Westeros were so interested in my small cloths.” She stated daintily. “Or lack thereof.” Her voice took a wicked edge and her smirk grew when the dismayed realization that her bag really was free of undergarments crossed Jon’s face. He took a hasty step back, shooting a half scandalized look down at her. 

“The room is free of any other exits, My Lord.” Another guard spoke up, shifting the rug back into place as he finished checking under it. 

“That is enough of this.” The queen stated quietly. “How did you leave the tower?” 

“I could not possibly have, your guards just stated as much.” Arya answered. 

“And we are supposed to believe this bag just happened to appear in your guarded room with you?” Arya was impressed. Everything she’d heard of the Dragon queen prepared her for fire and passion but the other woman was as cold and biting as a Northern Blizzard. 

Arya shrugged casually and rose to her feet, standing eye to eye with the other. “To be honest, it does not truly matter what you believe. This is my bag. Whether it has been here with me since my arrival or whether I was able to retrieve it does not make any difference to the fact that it is my bag and that I remain here, in my.. Accommodations.. just as you left me.” The Queen opened her mouth buy Arya did not allow her time to speak. “I remain in this room because it suits me to do so. Rest assured, you majesty, should I desire to leave your care at any time, there are none who would be able to stop me. I am here because it has become my duty to be so. I will serve you because that has also become my duty. But you are not my queen. I do not swear fealty to you or any other noble. You should be careful not to forget who you are speaking to.” Her voice started out careless but by the end it was just as brittle as the queens, the threat ringing on the air when she finished and leaving goosebumps in her wake.  
She glanced around the room, making eye contact with every single person and getting back what she expected from all of them: unease, challenge, fear, desire, distaste, disbelief and dislike. That was, all except the last she though, tilting her head curiously as the eyes caught on green once again. Jaime was the only person who had surprised her. Rather than the anger and disgust she had been expecting, the combination of fascination, amusement, and a lower simmer of lust was enough to steal her breath for one.. two beats of her heart. She pulled her eyes away and back to the two standing directly in front of her. Jon’s face was shuddered and cool, she knew he still did not believe her to be herself but the queen’s face remained unchanged. Rather, she seemed almost humored by the exchange. Two then, that managed to surprise her. 

All were distracted by a sudden commotion echoing up the stairs. A males voice became audible, higher pitched then some lending a youthful perception of the unseen man. “I said stop! You cannot go in there without the Queen’s say! Guards!”

Jon strode to the door, brows furrowed and a reproach ready on his lips. “Sam? What is..!” 

A third voice spoke up then, deep and rugged, tinged with some type of desperation as he asked, “Is it true, Your Grace? Has she come back?” 

Arya’s spine straightened in shock and her eyes narrowed slightly at the door as a tall broad man, covered in sweat and soot charged into the room like the bull she’d always accused him of being. He shuddered to a halt when he saw the queen staring at him and bowed clumsily. Once the courtesies were finished he turned back and studied her greedily. “You are back” he whispered before he swept forward and gathered her into a filthy hug, lifting her clear off her feet. She held her arms frozen out to the sides for a long second in shock, eyes wide, before controlling herself and patting somewhat awkwardly at a broad, muscular shoulder. “I am so glad you are alive, mi’ lady.” He murmured, setting her back on her feet. 

“I’m not your lady.” She stated back out of reflex, taking an aborted step back. “Gendry.” She finally stated. “I am… Pleased, that you survived the war. I was not sure if you had.” The huge man frowned down at her, taken aback by her emotionlessness. 

A throat cleared sharply beside them. “You vouch for this woman’s identity then, Sir Gendry?” The queen asked, chin raised. 

“I can, Your Grace. I’d know Arry- Arya, that is, anywhere Your Grace. Went spent too much time together not to.” 

The first voice spoke up again and Arya looked over to see a rather large blond man standing beside her brother, hands clenched before his soft middle. “His story did match hers, Your Grace. I did not tell him she was hear until after he finished his tale.” 

The queen nodded regally. “Thank you for your assistance, Sir Gendry. You are dismissed.” He almost looked like he was going to protest before clenching his jaw and leaving the room, shoulders tense.  
Once he had left the room Arya looked down at herself, feeling more annoyed than anything at the damp black streaks that she could see on her arms and shirt, and could feel on her jaw where it had hit his shirt during his over exuberant hug. Gendry was… Gendry had been, a source of heartache for a long time. She’d put her trust in him, though the two of them would survive the war together and go home to Winterfell together, that she’d introduce him to her brothers and he’d smith in Mikkens old stall. Childish dreams, she’d realized eventually. The world was not a kind one, and cruel worlds did not breed kind men. His choosing the Brotherhood over her had stung and bled but she used it as a reminder to never fully rely on anyone but herself. 

“Well, Lady Arya.” The queen began, “It appears you have been honest with us, in this at least. Come, we shall find you quarters more suited to your station.” She gestured to the still open door. 

Arya looked at her, mask slipping slightly and disbelief visible in her eyes. “That convinced you of my identity?” She asked harshly. “Why?” 

“Because that was the first time I’ve seen an honest reaction out of you.” The queen answered, voice suddenly softer. “Sir Gendry came to Jon not long after we took the Red Keep. He told us that he had traveled with you for some time. He spoke of your stubbornness, your determination, your strength and your bravery. He vowed to Jon that he would do whatever necessary to find you, but no one knew where to begin looking.” She paused, thoughtful. “He said it was his fault you were alone, that he had betrayed your trust and that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to you if necessary.”  
Arya cleared her throat. ‘Control your face’ echoed ghost like in her mind and she forced tense muscles to relax. “That is unnecessary. That event has long been forgiven. If anything, I should thank him. It was a valuable lesson I learned from Sir Gendry.” 

The queen looked at her silently before glancing at her fiancé. When they turned to look back at her they looked almost sad, though both had a great deal of understanding in their eyes. “You mentioned something about a bath?” Arya interrupted, scooping her belongings back into her bag. 

“Yes.” Jon stated after a moment, voice rough. “Come, I’ll show you to your new chambers.” He started to the door. Arya glanced at the window out the corner of her eye, debating on whether she should say anything about the potential for a security breach come the next resident, when her keen observer Jaime caught the motion and moved back over to the window. His hand running over the sides was the last thing she saw before leaving the room and she wondered briefly if he’d figure her trick. He was proving to be more and more interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Her new chambers were in the Royal Wing, unsurprisingly. The sheer amount of guards lining the hall ways probably made it the most secure spot to place her and so she kept her discomfort with the finery to herself. The room she found herself in was huge, easily three times that of the tower room, with rich silk tapestries hanging from the walls and thick, ornamental rugs covering the stone floor. The bed was huge and so soft she felt uncomfortable even sitting on the side of it. She knew she’d have a hard time sleeping on it after half a lifetime moving between her stone bed at the House of Black and White and the lumpy mattresses found at most inns.

The queen had announced a feast was to take place in her honor in three night’s time. Hunting parties were sent out in preparation and Arya felt a sudden need to go with them, to escape the pretty cage she had found herself in. She had been told however, that it would not be possible. She was to wait for a seamstress to come and prepare a proper gown for her to wear the following day and she would be receiving a handmaid once a suitable one was found.

She itched beneath her skin at the constraint it took to nod gracefully. She’d been too bold so far and knew she could not risk alienating the queen she was supposed to serve any further than she had already.  
It was an hour before a knock came on her door. She opened it quickly and allowed the three women access to the rooms. The oldest was obviously the seamstress. She had graying hair tied back in a simply hairdo and had the beginning of a hunch in her back that signaled she spent much of her days bent over a sewing table.

The two girls that accompanied her looked to be about her own age, one with dark hair and eyes and the other blonde with light blue eyes. All three curtsied to her upon arrival before introducing themselves. The seamstress was named Lizabeth and her assistant (the dark haired girl, it turned out) was named Jessa. The third, who introduced herself as her new handmaiden, was named Britta.

Arya kept a pleasant expression on her face during the whole process, though she was very firm in what she would be willing to wear. She was willing to cooperate, but she absolutely refused to be cinched into one of the western monstrosities she was sure had initially been designed to keep a woman too short of air and too off balance to make any hasty movements. It took two hours of measurements and pinning fabric together before they found a design pleasing to both of them. The two ladies left soon after, promising to have the gown finished in time for the feast. The third girl, Britta, soon began to annoy Arya- first with her meek but firm refusal to be dismissed, stating orders from the Queen required her to stay with the Lady Arya at all times, and then again when she insisted on helping Arya to bathe.

Now, Arya had lost her shyness around the second day of what had ended up being a month long stay in a Lysene brothel, but she still could not quell the instinctive discomfort at having someone in the room with her while she was bare. She did not like being stripped of her weapons, did not like the feeling of exposure and, while she could easily push through the discomfort, why should she? Instead, she gripped the girl gently but firmly and steered her unrelentingly over to and out of the door, latching it behind her. She moved back over to the tub that had been brought in, shedding her cloths along the way and then sinking into the steaming water gratefully. She vowed silently to put it all out of her head for the night just before she dunked herself under the water and stayed there until her lungs ached. 

She rose with a gasp some time later, brushing the water from her eyes as her chest heaved. Her heart jolted when hands came down suddenly on her shoulders, squeezing them firmly and then encouraging her to move forward. She did so without question, still working to clear her eyes and ignored the firm body that slid into the bath behind her, legs straddling her own petite frame. 

When she was able to see once again, she turned to look at the newcomer. He was watching her silently, face blank and calm. He was her exception, she knew. Jaqen had seen her at her worst, at her weakest- he’d both put her there and pulled her back from it. He’d also seen her at her best, her strongest and her most powerful. He’d seen her brave, had seen her cry, had borne witness to her rage and her grief both. He’d experienced her sheer stubborn determination and he’d pushed though it- and then had helped her get past it. He’d been there, an encouraging shadow helping her claw her way up from being some pathetic, lonely orphaned child to being someone she could be proud of. He’d given her life both purpose and the means to achieve that purpose, and she’d never looked back or made him regret choosing her. 

He was the one person she would truly call a friend, the only one she could allow to see her- really see her- without setting off her instincts. He was the only person in the world left that she felt comfortable with, that she didn’t second guess or doubt. Still, she forced herself to blink slowly at him, keeping her face locked tightly down and only allowing it to ask silently of his presence. 

His blank face gave way to slight amusement as a slight but familiar smiled rose crookedly on his face. He raised an eyebrow back at her but kept his silence. 

She held her own silence for perhaps two minutes before she considered giving in to him. His smirk grew bigger, as if he could read her thoughts and she scowled at his smugness. She let her eyes drop from his mouth down to his chest, ignoring the face that, while handsome, was not his. Instead she feasted her eyes on his body, on the scars that dotted his body, on his strong but lithe build and the lightly tanned flesh was always the same despite the different faces he wore with it. 

The water hardly stirred as she moved slowly back towards him, creeping forward on hands and knees as she moved to straddle his firm thighs. She let her hands run slowly up his chest, gathering the moisture as she went. When she reached his neck she let her fingertips caress the skin behind his ear that she knew was sensitive. She leaned forward then, for once at an even height with him, and let her lips connected lightly with the corner of his smirk. His hands came off the edge of the tub to lightly grab her thighs. He rubbed softly, pulling goose bumps to the surface of her skin before he let his hands creep upward until his large hands were grasping her hips firmly. 

She rolled her hips down in reward, feeling his rising flesh press against her obscenely. His gaze darkened and held her trapped, right hand coming up to tangle in her wet hair and guiding her mouth firmly to his. They kissed slowly for several long minutes, passion building unheeded between them. Suddenly enough that it pulled a gasp from her lips, Jaqen stood from the water. He rose in one smooth motion, lifting her with him with hands grasping her arse. The hidden strength of him caused her blood to surge and she attached herself to his mouth with renewed vigor, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips. 

He started carrying her in the direction of the bed but she pulled back and shook her head quickly. “Not the bed.” She gasped out as steadily as she could manage. He shot her a curious look but did not ask, instead settling her on the thick rug before the fireplace. She closed her eyes and let the world fall away as he settled down on top of her, content to let the realm burn in that moment. 

*****  
The next three days passed in a blur of boredom, uncomfortable meetings with the queen and her brother, and long hours practicing her stances on a hidden beach she had discovered that always seemed to be empty and was out of sight of the keep. Before she knew it she was standing outside the hall, listening to the tide of voices through the thick wood and wishing she didn’t have to walk though. This- being in the spot light, having a feast specifically in her honor, felt wrong and uncomfortable. She belonged in the shadows, this felt unnatural and stifling and for a second she wished she was anywhere else in the world but here. Still, she squared her shoulders, blanked her face (of what miniscule emotion had managed to seize her expressions), and cloaked herself in all the cool grace and confidence she could muster. 

The guards waited for her nod before opening the doors, the Herald announcing her to the many guests gathered and a collective hush fell over the room as she drifted in. The dress had come out just as she’d envisioned. It was a simple, but stunning design. The front fell into a V so deep it left her belly button exposed, and it gathered over her breasts and around her neck in a bunching of slinky fabric. It fell to the floor, but had a single slit cut clear up to the top of her right thigh to allow free movement. It was the darkest black, and made of material so smooth and fine that the loose material would be impossible to tangle up on. A thin silver belt both held the fabric from moving freely and showcased her lithe waistline. 

That belt was the only ornament that covered her back, the top of the dress only just covering the swell of her hips and stopped just over the swell of her bum. She’d pulled her hair into a high pony, with a piece braided and wrapped around the base of it. It fell just below the line of the dress, a mass of wild sun kissed brown curls. Unseen to all sat a dagger on both sides of her hips, hidden but the bundled fabric, and the belt of useful bits and pieces that was wrapped securely around her left leg- the only part of her body well and truly covered. 

Her arms were bare except for the matching silver bands cuffed around the upper flesh and set off by the slight tan that was much more obvious here amongst the pale westerners. She had taken the time to apply a hint of coal around her eyes and a small bit of power to highlight her high cheekbones, she’d even dabbed a bit of color onto on lips and she knew she would draw many eyes that night. 

She held her chin high as she made her way through the room and up to the head table where she was to sit beside her brother. She began hearing the muffled gasps as soon as she was past the first rows of guests and her hair swayed to the side, exposing something that had been out of site to the men previously- the pale, thin lines that crisscrossed her back her back in a permanent reminder of a mistake she had once made in Volantes- a city well known for its unforgiving nature. Most women would be self-conscious of the marks, Arya knew, but she refused to be cowed by something so trivial. 

Jon’s face flushed with color when she finally arrived in front of the Queen and soon to be King, though she could not tell if it was from anger, embarrassment or a combination of both. She smiled all the same and nodded gracefully at the couple before moving around to take her seat. “You are late.” He whispered harshly as she settled. The bells started ringing over the keep and the guests all made their way to their own seats as the doors opened again and lines of servants began carrying in countless trays of food and drink into the hall. 

“Rather, I think I arrived right on time.” She replied, smiling at the young girl who set a platter of steaming meat in front of the trio. Jon shot her a look but kept any further comments to himself and sat silently until the servants split- most leaving, but some staying to take a stance around the room should they be needed. 

Queen Daenerys stood from her seat then, the hall quieting completely within seconds. “Welcome all!” She began, voice strong but friendly as it carried. “We have all gathered her today to rejoice in the arrival of my soon to be Good Sister, Lady Arya Stark, back home to Westeros! She has traveled far and has seen much of the world, but now she’s found her way back to her family. We are both honored and appreciative that you have all answered our invitation to celebrate with us tonight. Please, let the feat begin!” 

She sat back in her seat as applause burst through the hall. She reached for the first dish, followed by Jon and then Arya. Only once all three had grabbed food did the guests begin filling their own plates. The food was good and the wine never ran dry. Though the air between her and Jon was still stifled and uncomfortable, she spent the length of the meal making small talk with some of the other seated at her end of the table- specifically Tyrion and Asha. She surprisingly even found herself enjoying the conversation, though by the grimace on Jon’s face she caught more than once it was a conversation perhaps best suited at a different time and location. 

Eventually the food was cleared away and music started up from the corner of the room. Jon and the Queen rose together to start of the dancing and Arya used the time of transition the scan the hall for any faces she may have missed before. She was startled to recognize a familiar grouping of a dozen people seated near the back of the hall. They looked odd and out of place amongst the finery and her brows furrowed at their presence. “Excuse me.” She murmured, setting her wine glass down and moving to stand. Tyrion, seeing her interest, leaned closer to explain. 

“Jon had Varys find out which ship you had arrived on. He met the captain personally to thank him for your safe delivery. He tried to give him coin, but the captain refused and said your passage had already been paid for. Instead, Jon invited him to the feast to express his thanks.” Arya nodded her thanks, but continued to stand and made her way around the table and across the room. 

A choirs of “Cat!”’s greeted her arrival and a genuine smile crossed her face as Dustain clasped her arm firmly. She sat herself casually on the bench as a jumble of Braavosi rose around her and she soaked in the familiar sounds. She sat with them for a long while, joining in the conversation effortlessly and japing along with the sea roughened sailors as though they had yet to reach port. 

The group at the head table watched her with a variety of emotions. For most, it was curiosity at the odd girl. She had been born a Northerner- considered something of a beast just from that but many in the South. She’d grown up Gods only knew where across the Narrow Sea, passing her days with assassins and sailors and who knew what other unsavory sorts of people. She bore the confidence of a queen, had the mouth of a soldier, dressed like a high priced whore and moved with all the grace of the assassin she claimed to be. 

Some of the others held a different perception. Asha leaned in closer to Tyrion and stated in a low voice, “I like her.” A lascivious smiled crossed her face as her eyes took in the other woman who just then tossed her head back and swallowed back an entire tankard of ale, dabbing elegantly at the corners of her mouth once she had finished. The man across from her said something that caused a pure, genuine laugh to burst from her, drawing the attention of many. 

The imp made an agreeable noise deep in his chest. “She’s definitely causing a stir around here.” He responded, taking a drink of his own, eyes still on the girl as the man who had made her laugh led her out to the dance floor. The tune was a lively one and they kept to a friendly hold, looking to enjoy themselves for the remainder of the tune. 

It looked like they were going to keep dancing when the next song started- this one slower and darker, when another man appeared beside her. No one could see what was said but the first man held his hands up and nodded his head before making his way back to the crew. The newcomer grasped at her bare back with an ease that caused the two gossiping council members to look over at their Lord. Jon’s expression was shuddering even as they watched and they turned to trade a cautious look with each other. 

The two dancers came together, existing in each other’s space as they glided through the steps, their grips almost a caress and the familiarity between the two obvious to anyone who cared to look. The man was tall and good looking, wearing plain but elegant cloths that did nothing to mask the predator like aura he gave off. He had wavy brownish red hair cut though with a thick streak of white on one side. They were attractive together, yes, but it was the sheer presence of the two of them moving together that caused them to be the center of attention, the pure lethal awareness they focused on each other causing both desire and discomfort to sweep through those watching. 

Arya was spun suddenly away from him and then jerked back until her back was pressed full length against the man’s front, her left hand grasped in his right across her stomach, his own left hand resting almost possessively on her waist as he bent down and whispered something into her ear. The way her eyes heated up was visible even across the room and Jon stood, anger in his stance at this strangers audacity, when she turned her head into his, letting him almost nuzzle against the side of her head in the middle of the crowd. 

Before he reached them however, the song changed yet again. The stranger drew her to a halt, reaching down again to whisper in her ear before melting silently into the crowd. Jon tried to track him, but was unable to even catch a glimpse of him again. Instead, he continued until he was standing behind the shorter woman. She turned and tilted her head up to look him in the eyes. “Jon.” She stated simply, eyes dropping to his hand when he held it out to her.

That got him raised eyebrows but she accepted it none the less. This song was faster than the last, but still sedate enough for them to be able to talk. All the same, the first half passed in silence. For Arya, it was a comfortable enough one. She’d learned long ago that silence came in many different varieties- they could be deadly silences and uncomfortable ones, bored silences and angry ones but she’d learned to control how they affected her personally, taking away their perceived power over her own reactions. Jon though, Jon was clearly uncomfortable. His face was angry, but he’d tried to cover it. 

When he did speak up she gave him a mental point for keeping his voice steady and even when he asked, “Friend of yours?” 

“Something like that.” She offered back casually. 

“Well, any friend of my little sisters’ is a friend of mine. When might I meet him?” 

Arya stopped completely, pulling away from the amicable hold to look up at him, sardonic smile curing her red lips and casting a dangerous glow upon her face. “Oh?” She asked, voice still coming across friendly enough. He took a step closer, unaware or uncaring of the peril he was inviting. “That’s an interesting thing to say..” She continued on, tapping herself on the jaw in a pondering sort of way. 

“Interesting?” He questioned, drawing her off the dance floor and to a more private area, ignoring the two guards they ended up standing in-between. Arya did not forget them, scanning the Dothraki and the Unsullied quickly before looking back and meeting the eyes that were identical to her own. “Why interesting?” 

She stepped into his space, taking note off all the subsequent reactions- the tense muscles, tight swallow, grind of teeth and hand curling into a loose fist- for the obvious discomfort it was. “You don’t look at me like I’m your little sister. In fact, sometimes I think you’d rather I get back on that ship and sail off into the night so that your real sister can come and take her rightful place in your shadow like she should.” Her voice was even. 

“No,.. Arya, that’s not…” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, cursing as it snagged and then looking at her apologetically, as if she would be offended by his course language. He sighed at the blank look he received. “I’m glad you have come home, you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about you, wondered where you were or if you were still alive somewhere. It’s been killing me since the war ended not to be able to find you and I am so thankful that you’ve made it back…” He trailed off again, looking frustrated and uncertain. “But you… You’re not the girl I remember- I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that! We were children then, of course we’ve both changed.” His voice was getting rough and gravely as his northern accent thickened. “But we’re going to need to get to know one another again. So much time has passed, I don’t know where to start.” He shook his head, stepping closer and gripping her shoulders. “But you’re my sister and I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I have missed you, dearly! And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel otherwise.”

Arya stood frozen as she stared into his earnest eyes. Suddenly she felt like a little girl again, heart beating too hard beneath her breast as a wave of… was that hope? Rose up and surrounded her. She had been sure he was disgusted by the woman she had become, by the profession she had gone into. It had seemed so clear in his silence, his distance, over the past days since she’d arrived. Her eyes dropped somewhere around his chest and she silently nodded her head in agreement, using the motion to disguise the swallow she’d had to force past her tight throat. 

“But!” He said suddenly, releasing his hold to point at her. “That does mean meeting your friends. He was obviously someone close to you, I’d like to know him.” His voice had slowed and become firm. 

She raised her brow at him, crossing her arms, one hip unconsciously cocking out as she looked at him stubbornly. “Trust me, he’s not someone you’d want to know.” Her voice had come out quieter than she’d have liked, but was smooth and even so she considered it acceptable. 

He shook his head, ready to argue when something caught his eyes over her shoulder. He bit himself off and then turned back to her. “This is not the time for this. We shall finish our conversation on the morrow. I think we’re overdue for a long conversation. For now, lets just enjoy the feast.” 

She nodded at him, working hard to keep her annoyance off of her face. He turned and made his way back to his Fiancé, leaving her standing alone at the edge of the room. She pulled herself together, calming herself with force of will alone and then looked to the table nearest her, where a group of Dothraki were playing a familiar game involving a set of six Di, a half deck of cards, a dagger and a wooden cup. She took the few steps over to them, drawing the five hard, dark gazes of the men sitting there. 

“Deal me in?” She asked in lightly accented Dothraki. She never got the chance to practice it and would take any opportunity to do so. Four of the men traded glances but the one closest to her did not look away. He continued to study her, dark eyes taking her in from head to toe. He was an impressive looking man, she noticed. His hair was long, even longer than hers, and he had strong, fierce features and the body to match. He’d tower over her, she was sure, were he to stand, and the dark lines painted on his chest enhanced his masculinity and drew her gaze naturally to his solid chest. 

He finally nodded his head, motioning her to the empty seat and readying the cards to pass. She smiled flirtatiously, settling herself in and joining their small party seamlessly. The night was definitely turning out to be more interesting than she had been expecting and if this group got too handsy- because they definitely seemed the type- well, it had been a while since her steel had gotten to taste blood.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picture was my inspiration for the beginning of this chapter. I know several of you are curious about Jon/Dany's relationship and I will start exploring that more here. Thank you for all the encouragement, I am open to questions, thoughts and ideas!

Chapter 5

Arya played two rounds with the coarse Dothraki before excusing herself and making her way back to her seat, slipping silently enough through the crowd that she was able to avoid being caught in either conversation or an invitation to dance. The table was nearly empty when she arrived, its residents scattered throughout the room themselves. She settled herself back into her chair, lifting her glass to hover in front of her mouth but not actually drinking it as she studied the room. 

She’d not picked up as many conversations as she’d been hoping for but she’d forgotten just how noisy the horse lords were and their own thick, husky voices were very effective at blocking out many of the lighter and more delicate tones scattered around them. Truly, she should have chosen another point to settle into if she’d really wanted to gather gossip but she’d always been too curious by nature and she’d had little enough contact with the large, gruff, warriors for that curiosity to still nag at her. All the same, the feast would continue for several more hours. 

Her eyes caught on her not-brother dancing with his wife-to-be in the middle of the room, guards standing close by. That was a fascinating relationship she was still wrapping her mind around. Jon hadn’t been like the other boys when they were children. She’d hidden herself away in innumerous nooks and crannies when she’d been young and so heard more than her share of private conversations throughout the household. 

She’d once been hiding under a table in the library, reading a book on dragons, when Robb and Theon had come in. The latter of the two had been in a huff, ranting on about how Jon kept giving him judgmental looks when he mentioned the whore houses- like it was any of his business where he sheathed his sword. Robb had defended his brother, voice long suffering as if it were a conversation held before and reiterated that Jon would not get any bastards on a woman. Theon had replied back with a flippant comment about how whores fucked so many men they wouldn’t know who the father was anyways and so why would he need to worry about that? 

Robb had given the other a look, shaking his head slightly in disbelief but had kept his silence. The two had left directly afterwards but Arya hadn’t forgotten the conversation. Jon had left for the wall not long after that and Arya knew the vows the Men of the Nights Watch took. Granted, the night’s watch had been mostly disbanded after the long winter, wildlings coming as far as the neck and settling where they pleased. The wall still stood, for the most part. There were huge gouges and gaping holes left over from the battle with the white walkers and all castles had been abandoned- so truly, could one break vows to an order that no longer existed? 

The queen’s head tilted back at something Jon had spoken into her ear and a light, tinkling laugh reached her ears. It was so odd to witness, she’d never before pictured him with any woman. If she had, she pondered, tilting her head slightly, she’d have pictured someone… Wilder, less constrained. Queen Daenerys had as many songs sung of her grace and charm as were sung of her victories accomplishments. She was petite in figure, delicate and wispy in her gown of pale blue fabric and looked so very breakable. Still, in that one second her face was completely unguarded in her mirth and Jon was looking at her with naught but affection, his own grin true on his face at whatever jape the two had just shared. 

He pulled her close again after, arms wrapped firmly around her slender waist and lifted her effortlessly before he twirled with the music, the couples around them following the same motions but lacking the dynamism the royal couple displayed so naturally. The dance concluded some moments later, but the two lingered, pressed together for several beats before the separated and made their way back to the head table, her small hands tucked firmly around Jon’s arm as he escorted her through the crowd. 

Arya dropped her eyes to the side as they broke free to not be caught watching. Still, she could see the twist in his expression when he caught sight of her seated once again at her place. She brought her glass to her lips with nonchalance, allowing the smallest amount of the liquid to pass and holding it on her tongue, the bitterness filling her senses. She could see the queen glance first at her and then up at her partner. Suddenly the two reminded her of the doors to the House of Black and White- one light, one dark, but both strong and unyielding. 

The couple continued forward silently and passed behind her as they retook their own seats. The queen turned to face her, polite curiosity painted perfectly across her features. “Lady Arya, I am surprised!” She exclaimed, voice light. “You did not say you spoke Dothraki. How did you come to know their game? It is nearly unheard of outside of Vaes Dothrak. You seemed very familiar with it, I even thought you might win for a bit there!” 

“I have spent time at both the Western and the Eastern markets.” Arya replied easily, turning slightly to meet the queens’ eyes. She saw Jon look away again and held back a frown. “The order uses some products that cannot be found elsewhere and so send envoys to make purchases every six months or so.” 

“Truly?” The delight seemed genuine and Arya nodded. “How far east have you gone?” 

“As far as Tiqui. I had hoped to see the Shadow Lands but it was not part of our task and we did not have the additional months to travel.” She paused, eyes distant. “Still, I’d like to see it one day- to go as far east as east goes. Everything is so different there from here, there is so much to discover.” 

“And after?” The queen questioned. “Once you’ve gone as far east as east goes- where shall you go then?” 

“Everywhere.” The reply came easy, but after a pause all the same. “Though I’m not too picky on the order, it’s always been a dream to travel North of the Wall. I know the wildlings are south now, but I’d still like to see the ice trenches and the ancient weirwood groves. The stories say there are ice fields that stretch as far as the eye can see but no one knows what comes after. I’d like to find out.” She paused to wet her lips and her grey eyes met grey, almost by accident. Jon’s eyes were raw, brows furrowed and some nameless emotion heavy in the press of his lips. She continued before he could speak up, unsure if she wanted to know what he would say. “And West, of course. I’ve never been to the Summer Isles, and have only briefly passed into Dorne.” She laughed almost self-consciously, drawing herself up both physically and in regards to the conversation which was becoming a little too personal for her tastes. “I suppose I could live a hundred lifetimes and not be satisfied. I’ve always been told I’m too curious for my own good and the world holds so much knowledge, if one is willing to seek it.” 

The queen smiled, hardly more than a curl of her lips but it was genuine and it was directed unquestionably at her. “I spent so much of my own youth dreaming about coming here- to Westeros, to Kings Landing, that I never imagined I’d want to be anywhere else once I had it. Still, there are some things I miss.” She confided softly, though she did not elaborate. Still, Arya felt the faintest stirring of kinship between her and the dragon queen. She was unsure if it was left from the moment she’d witnessed between the girl and her brother or as a result of the wistfulness she’d heard mirrored in the other’s voice, so similar to her own previously unspoken desires. 

Whatever the cause, Arya pushed the feeling down, pulling her eyes away and glancing again around the room. Her eyes caught on Jaime Lannister, standing at attention some ways down the head table, on the other side of the queen and against the wall. His green eyes flicked to the side, meeting hers suddenly and she was taken aback by the understanding she saw reflected back at her for a scant second before he looked ahead once again, hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. Her eyes ran over him casually, taking in his attentive, but comfortable, stance. His uniform was neat and his face clean shaven. His armor gleamed and he reminded Arya of every golden knight from every story she had ever been told. 

Her eyes fell to his golden hand, hanging freely at his side. Perhaps not like every knight, she thought instead, taking in the obvious dings and marks in the soft metal that showed he’d made use of it as a shield in the past- and successfully considering he still had his life. She’d grown up with stories of Sir Jaime Lannister of the Kings Guard- of his perfect Lannister features, his strength, his wealth, his skill in tournaments. 

When King Robert and his entourage arrived in Winterfell she’d caught a glimpse him and remembered thinking he looked like Sansa’s perfect knight. When she’d gotten older and had learned the truth of his character she believed him to be just like every other knight in Kings Landing- a willing lap dog for whoever held his leash- though a talented one. Now he had caught her interest and she hadn’t yet decided if it was a good thing or bad. He definitely had the potential to liven things up but she also got the vibe that he wasn’t one to play with. 

A throat clearing in front of her brought her eyes back to the dance floor and away from the curious guard. A man stood in front of her seat, draped in fine velvets and gleaming with spots of silver and gold. He looked to be at least forty and five, with grey obvious in his dark hair and wrinkles settling into his face. He held a hand out to her, formally offering a dance. She held his gaze, mentally cursing as she tried to find a polite way to decline. She glanced around, seeing several other men eyeing her as they milled around the dance floor and she sighed internally, admitting defeat. She’d never be able to slip out of the room under so much direct attention. She took his hand gracefully, allowing him to lead her around the end of the table and out onto the floor. 

She ended up dancing with six other men of varying ages before she reached her limit. The current song was coming to a close and she was looking discreetly for a path through the crowd that she could slip through, prepared to duck into the first gap she could find. As soon as the last notes faded she nodded her head politely to her partner and then ducked under his arm, fading into the masses moving themselves into position as the next song started up. She nearly danced her way through the crowd, managing to swipe a flagon of wine from a side table as she reached the row of balcony doors. She ignored the largest one moving instead to one of the smaller private doors near the edge of the room and slipped silently into the chill of the night, quickly pressing one of her daggers into the crack to prevent anyone following her. 

Goose pimples immediately appeared with the breeze that flowed against her sweat dampened flesh. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and welcoming the cleansing briskness of the night. She worked the stopper loose from the flagon without opening her eyes and brought it to her lips for a deep drink. She remained there for several long minutes, blocking out the clatter from inside as best she could. She focused herself, letting all the annoyances and necessities fall away and bringing her mind back under control- the bite in the air helping her concentration. 

She opened her eyes again some time later, skin nearly numb and fully back in control of her temper. The stars were so different than the ones she had become accustomed to in the east and she strained her mind trying to remember the names of these familiar and yet foreign ones mapping the sky above her. It was only when the wine was gone and she was well and truly cold that she turned back to the door and retrieved her knife. The handle was in her hand when she paused again, mouth twisting at the thought of submerging herself once again amongst the overly perfumed noblemen and their grabby, moist hands. Instead, she found her eyes drifting to the trellis that grew up the side of the keep. She shouldn’t- she knew she shouldn’t. She should go back inside and sit through the remainder of the feast with a pretty smile plaster across her face and ignore the entitled men and their groping. 

Once step back and to the side and she found herself looking up at what was practically a latter spread out before her. Really, how could she ignore such an obvious invitation? She reached down and tucked the end of her dress into the sleeve of her thigh belt that was designed just for that purpose, turning the fabric temporarily into an odd pair of one-legged breeches. She slipped off the soft slippers she’d been given and felt no guilt as she left them tucked off to the side of the platform and began climbing. Her fingers and bare toes made easy work of the wall and she was dancing across the roof back to her rooms within seconds. She’d behaved herself enough for the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has dark elements- specifically noncon and the murder of a child slave. The tags have been updated to reflect this.

Chapter 6

The next morn found Arya dressed and gone from the keep long before her new handmaiden arrived to wake her. She made her way through the city, allowing her senses and feet to guide her to her order-brother, though she did not have any knowledge herself of where he could be found. Still, she was shown true and arrived at a crowded inn where she found him seated in a shadowed corner, wearing the face of a frail old man with fogged eyes. His hands shook as he tore apart his bread and brought it to his mouth to chew slowly. 

It was a good strategy, she knew. The elderly were among the few who could linger for truly foolish amount of time without drawing unwanted attention and, if he was searching for whispers as she suspected, the guise certainly gave him the freedom to spend hours unnoticed. She slipped through the crowd silently, hood drawn as always. When she reached his table she leaned down over him and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Grandfather.” She greeted with a twist of her lips as she sat herself down. 

A sharp look passed through his eyes, though no others would have caught the flash. She still did not know how old he truly was, as age was irrelevant in the service so long as a man could still perform his duties, but she knew he was much older than he appeared- lifetimes older, if her suspicions were correct. The serving girl scuttled over, flustered by the day already if the state of her hair was to be believed. Still, she was efficient and within minutes Arya had a steaming bowl of porage and a battered glass of water sitting in front of her. 

She dug in readily, ignoring the blandness of the meal as she filled her belly. Once finished she sat back in her chair and looked back at her companion. He too had finished and she absently wondered how long he had already been there. They stood silently together, the older leaving a silver coin on the table. Once outside and clear of the larger crowds she took the arm of the frail looking man beside her, letting him lead her slowly up a winding path that left the city and came out on a small, empty courtyard surrounded by cliffs, protected and out of sight. The wind coming off the water would also help buffer their noise as well, she knew. 

When it became clear that this was in fact their destination she released him and strode forward, lifting her head to take in the sea breeze. She found herself feeling a pang of disappointment when she could still smell the rot of the city behind her and another of longing for the cleaner smell of spices and fish that embodied Braavos. She allowed neither to show on her face as she turned back to her brother, seeing his familiar face rather than the wrinkled flesh he had donned before. 

Questions lingered on her tongue but she held them in, waiting patiently for him to speak. When he finally spoke he did so slowly, each syllable measured and precise. “Plans need to move forward. Unforeseen events have taken place and unrest grows at the boarders. Daenerys must keep the throne, it is vital. She is to have a small council meeting at high noon, as is her norm. A girl will attend that council, and every council from here on out.” He paused, eyes distant. 

“A man must journey south for a time. You’ve heard the disconcerting rumors and their truth cannot be left to chance. The journey should take no more than two moons and a man should be back in time for the royal wedding. If there is a delay a girl will receive a white raven detailing further instructions.” 

Arya drew a deep breath in through her nose. She had found it somewhat… easier… being back in this horrible place, but knowing she had an ally nearby, someone who knew her and who had her faith. Still, she would endure. She nodded once, silent still. He studied her quietly and she met his eyes firmly, but free of challenge or disagreement. 

The sly curve of his mouth was her only warning before the stillness was shattered with his sudden movement as he dropped his own cloak to the ground and drew two long thin daggers from his belt. Her body responded before her mind and she stepped quickly to the side and out of the way of his very real lunge. “Now, let’s see how a girl fares after being confined to the sea for so long.” A thrill warmed her belly and she felt her own lips curl in response. The quick tug of a tie released her own cloak and she drew her own blades even as she pushed forward. 

*****

Three hours and an awkward bruise later found the girl slipping into the council chambers wearing the face of a common serving girl with arms full of refreshments. There was a constant flux of people for a good several minutes getting things set up and she was grateful that the Queensguard was stationed at the door and not the unsullied, who would notice if one less exited than entered the room than had entered it. She was able to delay her steps until the room had emptied around her and then ducked into the shadows to wait, removing her borrowed face as she did so. The head maiden came in once more, glancing around firmly to ensure nothing had been missed, sweeping through the room quickly once more before she left, door secured behind her. 

Arya melded back out of the shadowed corner and slinked around the room, grabbing an apple as she went and settled herself into the chair she had taken when she’d been brought before the council initially. She was taking her last bite when the doors sung open again and two guards stomped in to secure the room. They froze at the sight of her, instinctively drawing their swords and preventing the queen from entering behind them. 

Though she could not see past their bulk, she could her the commotion rising in the hall. “How did you get in here?” The older of the two demanded firmly. “This room is barred.” 

Her lips curled as more guards swarmed in, taking positions all around the room. “No room is barred to me.” She stated back calmly but without explanation. Her voice was quite, but carried all the same. 

Suddenly Jon pushed his way through the armored blockade, eyes scanning her from head to toe where she lounged in the too big chair. “Stand down.” He ordered gruffly, moving further into the room and taking a stance behind his chair. The rest of the council entered slowly, eyeing her curiously as they did so. The queen entered last and came to stand silently beside her betrothed. 

“Lady Arya,” She spoke up finally. “I’m afraid this is a closed council. Any business you have may be discussed in my Solar once we have concluded our meeting.” 

Arya tilted her head, thick braid falling back over her shoulder as she did so. The thick blotted purple and deep blue bruise that covered her left shoulder and collarbone became visible at the same time. Her eyes left the couple to scan around the room, lingering for a scan second on each of the occupants. They lingered the longest on Varys and the man began looking the slightest bit uncomfortable under her gaze. “Tell me, Master of Whispers,” She began, voice barely audible. “Have you heard anything of interest of late?” 

“Such as?” He demanded in a drawl, drawing his shoulders back subconsciously and straightening his spine. 

She tilted her head again, shooting him a disappointed look. “Such as?” A tinge of mocking coated her voice. “Mayhap tidings from the South?” 

His eyes widened and darted to the queen, defensiveness and question clear on his face. Purple eyes finally looked away from grey and she met his own, studying his face. “Well?” The queen asked finally. “Have you heard word of something?” 

“Just- just the very faintest of whispers Your Grace.” He stuttered before regaining control of himself. “Stories and fables, nothing yet to worry you over.” A white brow rose on her forehead and she glanced over again at Jon. The two locked eyes before moving in unity and taking their seats. 

“Nothing to worry me over?” She asked, voice holding a hint of danger. “Well, consider me worry free. What are these whispers?” 

“Madness!” He exclaimed, “Stories of stone soldiers rising from the very ground! Killing men with their stone swords and clubs, leaving none alive…” He trailed off before he shook his head firmly. “There cannot be truth to them, Your Grace. It is likely nothing more than another group of outlaws using fear to ensure victory over the small folk.” 

“Tell me Varys, how does a story spread if there are no birds left to sing of it?” The queen asked, not expecting an answer. She turned back to the young woman sitting at the far end of the table. “And you, Lady Arya? What whispers have you heard?” 

“None quite so simpering, I assure you. Someone wants you removed from the throne, someone who does not want another Targaryen rule. They are powerful, unknown even by the order. They use blood and magic to fight their battles in place of flesh and blood men. Arts that are long forgotten to this world have been rediscovered and even the Gods tremble at what might come.” 

Silence followed her declaration. 

“Have you not wondered why I was sent here? Why the Faceless Men have broken their century’s old laws to not get involved in the politics that govern the realm? You seem to be missing the point, Your Grace, so let me spell it out for you plainly.” The Queens eyes narrowed, but not in anger as most would expect, but as a sign of her complete focus and attention. “The Faceless men do not take part in petty squabbles. Our order has survived the rise and collapse of countless dynasties, wars and revolutions. We have withstood the fall of kings and kingdoms alike, the shaping and reshaping of this world- all without interfering.”

“None of this- not my name, not my bloodline, not feasts or reunions or faith- none of it matters. You can trust me or distrust me as you like, it has no effect on my purpose. I will be here regardless, I will perform my duty regardless- until you rule no more and I am given a new duty.” 

The silence stretched longer when she finished, wide eyes locked on her face from every person in the room- even the guards were watching her discreetly. When no one spoke she continued, voice quieted but still firm. “So, I will attend your small councils, and I will protect you from your enemies and I will offer you my skills freely because it is the will of my God. Valar Morgalus- but you will not die this day, or any day under my watch whilst I still draw breath. That is my vow to you, Dragon Queen.” She sat back once more, having risen up slightly during her last declaration. The queen met her stare for stare and they sat, both far bolder than they had any right to be in the face of their adversary but after a time she nodded. 

“I will accept your vow Arya Stark, provided you stay true to your purpose and do not give me reason to doubt you.” She shifted slightly, settling into her seat. “Now, tell me about this threat.” 

*****

The group left the chambers some hours later, talking quietly in groups of two ore three as they filed out. Arya escaped quickly, faster than Jon could track. He remained seated after the room cleared, his two personal guards remaining silently with him. The door closed once again with a gesture and he allowed himself a moment to simply be exhausted. His strong shoulders sagged, his body slumped and his head bowed to rest on the knuckles of his left hand, right clenched tightly in a frustrated fist. 

He felt like he’d missed an opportunity that he couldn’t get back in rejecting her in that one moment, but she seemed so strange to him. When he’d seen Arya last she’d been a wild little girl always into some sort of trouble or other but always with a smile. She’d been such a sweetly fierce thing, ready to offer her friendship to any and all she thought were good people. She’d be seen with high born and commoners alike, strolling through the city with a lordling one day and a tavern wenches daughter the next. 

Well, he thought with the faintest hint of a smile, all but Sansa. Those two were truly something when forced to be around each other for even the length of a meal. She’d have received his raven by now, winds be good. He wondered what her reaction would be. The two of them had gotten closer in their retaking of Winterfell, had become something of true siblings despite the fact that they now knew he was not, in fact, her half-brother. Still, the topic of siblings had been a painful one for both and had been restrained to the occasional sharing of a memory. 

He wondered then how Arya would react when faced with the rest of her siblings. Sansa, Bran and Rickon were already preparing to leave for Kings Landing for his wedding, but were not supposed to leave for another three weeks. If they moved up their timeline they could be in the city in just over a month. He wasn’t sure if them arriving sooner would be a good thing or bad at this point as he wasn’t sure Arya would be receptive to them at all. He could already imagine the mess of hurt feelings and anger that was coming, though he hoped he was over thinking the issue. 

Jon pushed himself up with a sign and left the room- he found his free time to be regrettably small these days. 

*****

Three days after attending the first council meeting, Arya arrived at the hidden courtyard to find it already occupied. She leaned against cliff wall, watching as Jaime Lannister moved through an obviously familiar set of katas. The muscles in his left arm bunched as they controlled the weight of the large sword through moves that any other would use both hands to accomplish. She watched him for a long while, finding an odd sort of piece in the scene before her and taking full advantage of it. If he noticed her, he did not acknowledge her. 

Eventually she moved forward, drawing the thinner, lighter sword she’d brought with the same intentions. She waited until he turned and met him blade for blade. His lack of surprise tilted her towards believing he had indeed already noticed her. He eyed her curiously as he capitulated to her and turned fully to meet her. They moved lightly, teasing and testing each other more than anything. After a couple of minutes of silent dancing Jaime spoke up. “What say you if we make this a bit more interesting?” He blocked her swipe and stepped in, forcing her to step back. 

“Interesting how?” She asked back, nimbly ducking under this high swipe and almost smiling when his gold hand blocked her own jab. 

“Each contact gets one honest answer from the other. First to three strikes wins the match. Match winner gets a story.” 

The pace increased suddenly as Jaime feigned and then swiped at her calf. She barely dodged and then lowered herself into a crouch. “I agree to your terms.” She said, just as her heal made contact with the back on his knee, dropping him down and allowing her to smack him with the blunt of her blade. “First contact to me.” He rose quickly back to his feet, nodding in easy agreement. “Why are you so interested in me?” She questioned, having noticed his eyes following her more than most. 

A crocked smile lit his face, exposing a quick flash of his white teeth. “You are an interesting person.” He answered back carelessly. 

“And?” She questioned but he shook his head at her, still moving. 

“Nay, you’ve got to wait for the next contact.” His voice was edged with amusement, mocking but not malicious. Her eyes flashed and the pace increased again. She found herself in appreciation of his skill as he continued to match her step for step, despite his disadvantage. The next second he ducked her and while her back was turning, smacked the top of her thigh, just under her buttock, with his own blade. A line of pain lit the flesh and a jolt flashed through her belly. Her eyes narrowed at his smug look. “How did you get out of the tower? I found your window trick, but how did you get down?” He questioned back. 

“I climbed.”

“Impossible.” He denied just as quickly. 

“Not impossible.” An annoyed huff escaped his nose and he managed to cut in and tap her forearm. “Two-one me.” He reminded her gleefully. “How did you climb down from the tower?” He continued. 

She pressed forward again. “I had a rope.” 

He squinted at her as they pressed close, blades locked under a battle of wills. 

They broke apart and she dropped into a roll, coming up behind him and smacking the top of his ankle, drawing a pained hiss. “How did you survive the queens coming?” She asked out of true curiosity. Why keep her father’s slayer as her own guard? 

He took a time to answer, looking for words to answer something with so complicated an answer. “Queen Daenerys learned what kind of a King her father was before she arrived back in Westeros.” He finally answered. “She did not hold me in contempt for my crime.” 

Arya stepped back, the two of them circling as she studied him. Both were breathing the slightest bit heavier and were sprinkled with sweat. They came together again in union and she spared a brief thought that he would make a good sparring partner. They moved in silence for several unbroken minutes before Arya was able to slip inside his reach and bring her blade to his neck. “And why do you want to serve the daughter of the same Mad King?” 

“I knew king Aerys better than most- what type of person he was, how twisted. Daenerys may be of his blood, but she is nothing like her father.” 

He drove harshly forward, trapping her against the rocks, blocking her blade with his right hand bringing his own to her throat in a reverse of what had just happened. “What did you do to get whipped?” He asked next, pressed full length against her. She drew her knee up in the scant amount of room she had, driving it into his stomach and pressing him back. 

“That’s a story, not a question.” She refused and he tilted his head and conceded the point. 

“Fair enough.” He replied, eyes watching her closely. Rather than change his question he watched her closely and caught her next swing between the golden fingers, twisting his arm to jerk her blade. She moved forward with the pull, keeping her grip but left herself open for his blade to press against her stomach. She froze in surprise, tallying up in her head. “I’ll have my story now.” He breathed into her ear before dislodging her blade and stepping back, bringing his arm up to swipe across his forehead and signaling the end of the match. 

She straightened up, lowering her own blade and examining him as she thought back. 

***

She’d been sent to give the gift to a wealthy merchant in Volantis- a man named Zandren Bergen. She’d been excited when she’d received the assignment, though she’d tried to hide it. She’d heard much of the great city, of its black wall, said to be solid dragonstone 200 feet high and stronger than steel and diamond alike; of its Long Bridge, so great in breadth that it held a city’s worth of shops and merchants upon its planks. 

She’d left immediately and arrived an impatient three months later. The city had been a wonder, greater even than she’d imagined. Still, she’d lost all care for it within an hour, when she’d found her way to the world famous fighting pits. A scrawny young boy had been inside when she’d discovered it, cowering back against a wall with bloody gashes already scattered across his body. His opponent was a man grown, broad and strong, free of a slave tattoo and bearing the cloths of obvious wealth. He’d stood preening before the boy, soaking in the jeers of the crowd, stands more than half full even in the early hour of the day. 

He’d been holding a spear then, sword back in its sheath. He lowered its point to rest on the underside of the child’s chin and held it there until the teary eyes had met his. Only then did he begin to push, slowly and steadily up until the boy stopped twitching and fell still. He’d dropped the weapon then, blunt end catching in the sand and propping the limp body into a warped and awkward position, head twisted grotesquely as the steel remained embedded straight through from chin to scalp. 

She remained through the entire ordeal, even the removal of the boy’s body. It had been such a pointless death, she simply couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She’d known of course that the Volantis Fighting Pits were made mostly of fighting slaves and the occasional glory hungry freeman, but she’d expected men grown to be the ones fighting. That boy couldn’t have been more than one and ten. Even trapped in the life of a slave he could have been put to work as a builder or a dung shoveler. Then, if he’d gone to the pits at least he would have had a fighting chance, had some type of purpose aside from simply dying for a few moments entertainment. 

She had turned and moved back into the bustle of the city, a new determination in her steps to finish the job as quickly as possible and be gone from the awful place. She was waylaid that very night, however, when that same fighter strode into the tavern she’d settled into. He’d sat at a table adjacent to her with three other men, all proud and boastful, bragging of stories of their own fierceness. They were drinking copious amounts and soon deep in their cups. When the man stood and staggered off to make water she hadn’t thought twice about slipping from her own table and following him. 

He’d gone around the corner of the tavern, into the narrow alley and had pulled his cock out immediately. She’d been inpatient, had crept silently up behind him, finger knife in hand, ready to reach forward and slit him from ear to ear. His name, Rylon Seral, echoed in her thoughts, stuck as it had been since they had announced him victor. 

His stream was trailing off and she knew she needed to move quickly. She used the noise of him tugging his strings closed to leap forward, grabbing his jaw with her left hand as she drew the knife up with her right. The blade sliced through the flesh like water, dropping him to his knees in his own puddle with naught but a gurgle. She backed up several steps, watching silently until he too fell still. “Valar Morgalus” she had whispered right before her arms were grabbed from behind. 

She jolted harshly, not having heard anyone approach. She’d twisted in the grip but his hands were so large they engulfed her near from elbow to shoulder. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his breast. She felt unbearable fragile in that moment as the man lifted her effortlessly from the ground and slammed her into the brick wall beside her. He’d driven a knee harshly between her legs to lock her in place and had grabbed both of her slim wrists in one massive hand. He’d squeezed so hard her bones had creaked and hands had gone numb within seconds. 

Her eyes had taken him in quickly, recognizing the Dothraki that had been accompanying the man she’d killed. He was another fighter in the pits, she knew from listening to them. He growled something out in a harsh, foreign sounding language she’d not understood at the time. She met his eyes boldly, hiding her gnawing fear as she tried and failed again to even move an inch in his hold. The bloody knife fell uselessly from her limp fingers and clattered to the ground. 

He’d smiled then, a twisted angry and lustful expression taking over his face right before his free hand started ripping at breeches she wore. He’d had her then and she’d been completely helpless to stop it. He tore through her maidenhead, ripping her lower parts in half with a girth larger than any man should possess. As she’d clenched her eyes shut, one thought had reverberated through her mind- a conversation she’d had with the waif just months before about the same subject. 

They’d been working together in silence, the only two in the room, when the other had spoken up. “You have been doing well in your tasks. You will be sent away on an assignment soon and there are concerns a woman must take that a man need not worry about. Tell me, have you lain with a man yet?” 

“No.” She’d offered easily, unfazed by the question. 

“You’ll want to consider changing that.” The waif said back, meeting the question in her eyes. “It is not a nice world we live in. There is no place for your Western sensibilities here. Trust me when I tell you that you are better to rid yourself of it than have it be taken from you.” 

“I will take your advice into consideration.” She’d agreed verbally, but silently she’d though ‘let them try.’ She regretted ignoring that advice, as she was pinned to rough stone with blood running freely down her thighs and what had to be shards of glass tearing her appart. When he finished he did not drop her, nor kill her as she expected. Instead he’d tucked himself away, pressing his open mouth harshly against the side of her neck and gnawing at her for long moment. 

He pulled away harshly and shifted his grip, forcing her back out into the street, calling harshly for guards as he exclaimed that he had caught the murderer of the great Rylon Seral. They’d dragged her in front of the three Triarchs, still bare from the waist down. She’d been sentenced there, in the middle of the square, to receive ten lashes every other week for the next two years (so that she remain well enough to preform her duties), until she had received a total of five hundred lashes for the murder of the noble. She would also take his place in the fighting pits, where she would serve for the remainder of her life. She received her first ten lashes then, the remainder of her shirt stripped from her so that she stood completely bare in front of the crowd, boots the only cloth that remained on her person. 

She’d bore the punishment silently, jaw clenched so hard she feared it may just crack too. When they’d finished they’d drug her to the cages where the fighters were kept and tossed her bodily into an empty cell. She’d laid in a haze of pain until a healer appeared some time later, treating her wounds with a rough efficiency that had spots dancing in her vision. When the woman had finished, she dropped a rough spun, shapeless grey dress on her and left silently. 

Arya had remained unmoving for several hours, eyes tracking everyone that passed by her sight. When she had not seen anyone in close to an hour and the city had fallen silent she sat up gingerly, gritting her teeth against the agonizing tug on her raw flesh as she pulled her feet towards her. She pulled both boots off slowly, every move painful. Eventually though she had her rope unwound from her left leg and the short, hilt-less dagger from where it had been strapped completely invisible beneath the right boot. She reached up and removed the large, blunt wooden pin that was still precariously holding her hair up and unscrewed the seam hidden in the carved pattern. A set of slim lock picks slid out into her hand and she re-secured her hair once quickly, the strands like heavy needles on her back. 

She stood and pulled the rough cloth over her head before she went to work. She had the door unlocked within a minute and was sweeping down the hall just as quickly. She wouldn’t attempt to exit to the street, for she knew the masters would likely employ guards to keep the doors. Instead she exited out into the blood stained sands, dark and empty in the night. She moved over to the closest wall and began knotting one end of the rope until it formed a weighty ball. Once satisfied she leaned back and tossed it carefully up and over the rail. It landed on the ledge and she tugged at it softly and carefully until she was able to make the ball fall back over the edge and down to her, the rope remaining looped over the metal. 

The blade fit comfortably between her lips and she moved to grab the rope. She paused, breathing deeply in her nose and calming her mind as much as she was able. She grabbed both ends of the rope securely and then pulled herself up, bracing her feet against the smooth wall. She felt blood begin to trickle down her back once more but forced herself upward regardless. She reached the top an eternity later, heaving herself over and landing precariously on the edge of the first row of benches. She did not let herself rest and forced herself back up and to the back of the seating area. She did a full loop around the structure, trying to decide the best direction to go back down. The decent was almost worse than the ascent because the urge to simply let go of the rope and release the tension from her back was almost overwhelming. 

Still, her feet found the ground and she tugged her rope loose. She ducked into the shadows and made her way silently and painfully through the city, stealing a plain dress as she went- one that would not identify her as a slave. She’d found a nook to hide in, curled up and confined, but out of site. She’d remained there an entire week, moving only enough to sustain herself as she tended to her wounds, urging them to heal as quickly as they possibly could. 

Once she could move freely she completed her mission and left on very next ship to Braavos. Though some part of her had been tempted to track down her capturer, her more logical side took charge. She had allowed her feelings to interrupt the course of her mission. As a result she’d had been injured and then whipped. Her maidenhead had been taken, but that was not any big upset for her. Rather, its continued existence stemmed more from a lack of interest than any old teachings of purity and a sacred marriage bed that lingered from her childhood. 

From that perspective, she had no desire to seek out the whipping master for his part in her punishment and so she would not seek out the horse lord for his own part. She had brought events upon herself by allowing pity to overtake her and letting her emotions determine her actions- she would not make such a mistake again. Part of that control stemmed from her refusal to acknowledge any potential power the injury had over her. And so she left, and she went back to the House of Black and White and reported her success in her mission. When she was sent to Lys some three weeks later she went freely and unhindered. 

******

Arya was unsure if she wanted to share that particular story with Jaime Lannister, of all people, but found herself taking all the same. She skipped over some parts and gave the bare outline of what had happened but did not leave any actual events out or lie during any part of the story. She was not ashamed of her past, of anything that had helped shape her into the woman she had become. She expected to see pity or scorn when she looked back at him and was surprised to find appreciation something that looked like pride. That was odd, what would he have to be proud of her for? Still, she waited for him to speak. 

“Well.” He finally said, shading his eyes and looking up at the sky. “It seems we’ve passed a couple of hours here. Can I accompany you to lunch?” He asked, rather than continuing the previous topic. He slid the sword into its scabbard and stepped closer to her, offering his arm. She noticed his eyes scanning the fading bruise on her neck with curiosity, and then over at a particular chunk of wall that extended out of the cliff face father than any other. His brow raised in question, though none left his lips. She followed his eyes and had to smile for he truly was the most observant (normal) man she knew. She did not answer any more of his curiosity, but did take his arm agreeably and allowed him to lead her back up the path.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strike is made against the queen and the aftermath leaves Arya feeling a little... tense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some action, and then some 'action.' The 'Mature' rating comes into effect here folks, read at your own discretion. Please note I do not have a Beta reader, so please excuse any mistakes. Next chapter will be the Stark Sibling Reunion but while I have plans churning in my head, I am a in my last year at University and I work full time, so I can not promise when that will be. In the mean time, enjoy and let me know what you think!

XXX

And So No One Becomes Some One

Chapter 7

The next couple of weeks Arya found herself spending more and more time with Jaime, as she had taken to calling him by his given name. She was surprised to find his wit as sharp, sarcastic and jaded as her own, and found herself relaxing more and more in his company. He did not curb his tongue around her, or blunt his behavior as most men did while women were near enough to witness. He was loud and crude and arrogant to the point of distraction. He had no boundaries and gave no thought to propriety when they were alone. He was better when in other company, and kept his comments and filthy jokes to discreet whispers for her ears alone. She found herself actively having to keep her face straight, as the temptation to smile and laugh around him was becoming a bigger and bigger challenge. 

Even then she stood leaning against the wall next to where he stood posted for the day, outside the entrance to the royal halls, caught in a quiet by fierce debate on whether steel armor was a help or hinder in a fight. The knight of course stood by his gear, but Arya was trying to convince him of the freedom of no armor. The unsullied guard who stood on the other side of the hall ignored her presence completely, standing fully at attention and looking straight ahead. Jaime was a bit more lax, leaning slightly back against the stone, with his head tilted towards her rather than straight. 

They were drawn from their argument by the soft footfalls that became audible over the stone. Jon came into site a handful of seconds later, the Maester Sam walking with him and the two caught in their own conversation. “Oh, Arya!” Jon exclaimed, looking between the two. Her companion had pushed himself up off the wall and stood more at attention than he had been. He and the unsullied bowed their heads in acknowledgement as he came to a stop before them, Sam stopping a step behind the king. “I was actually just getting ready to come and find you. Do you have a moment to spare?” He asked. 

It was obvious she was free and so she nodded somewhat reluctantly, falling into step beside him and silently cursing herself. She’d been doing well in not being alone with the man she once called brother and hadn’t been expecting him to come this way in the middle of the day. He did not start talking to her immediately, rather he waited until they were standing around his desk. He moved forward to swipe a handful of scrolls off the polished surface and handed them to the master, who left without another word. 

Jon let himself drop into his chair, silently gesturing her to take the open one across from him. She sat stiffly, pulling out her finger knife and picking at her nails to give her something to focus on. “I received a raven this morn. Sansa, Bran and Rickon will be arriving in the city within a fortnight- likely sooner, weather stay good.” 

Arya fought not to stiffen from her relaxed slouch in the seat as emotion surged through her. Avoidance was something she’d become very good at and she had been avoiding thinking too much about her other siblings. She’d heard of course that they were alive and well in Winterfell and she was happy with the news, but after her rocky reunion with Jon, whom she had been closest with before, she worried how they would respond to her now. 

She cleared her throat quietly, sitting forward and sliding the small blade out of sight. “That is sooner than I was expecting.” She stated. “I had heard they would not be here until closer to the wedding.” 

“They moved up plans as soon as they heard you were here, Arya. They’ve missed you and are very excited to learn that you still live.” 

She hummed quietly in acknowledgement, dropping her eyes to the floor as she pushed herself the rest of the way up and onto her feet. “Thank you for the information.” She turned to leave when she was stopped by his voice. 

“She spoke of you when we were taking Winterfell.” He stated, voice gruff and low. “She was convinced you were still alive somewhere. She said that if the Lannisters had managed to find you they would not have kept it a secret. She said you were even more bold and brave in the capital, away from your mothers eye, and that if anyone could survive the culling of our family it would be you.” He paused for a long moment. “She had so much faith that you would return to us but I… I told her not hold onto hope too hard, that it had been a long time and you were so young when everything went wrong.”  
Arya tilted her head back around to meet his pained eyes. “I wanted to come find you, when I heard. Wanted to leave the wall in the dark of night and ride out to meet Robb, to join with his army and come get you both.” 

She turned fully to face him and met eyes identical to her own. ‘Then why didn’t you?’ immediately came to mind, but she bit it back. She’d made peace with the happenings a long time ago, had gone over all the different scenarios and fantasies and dismissed every one. A sad smile curled her lips and she shook her head instead. “It would not have mattered.” She said simply. “I was gone from Kings Landing long before you could have reached it and even if Robbs army made it to Kings Landing, they never would have been able to take the city. Even if they got close, Cerci would have had Sansa slaughtered in the streets and her head mounted on a spike to greet the Northern Army.”

He dropped his eyes to his desk and she knew he was aware of the same thing. Assuming the conversation was at its end, she turned to leave again. Her hand was on the cold brass when he spoke up again. “Arya… I know I treated you harshly upon your arrival here and.. And I have not apologized for that, not truly.” He walked towards her, stopping a mere two feet away. “From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry for not recognizing you as yourself. I am sorry for denying you and mistrusting your presence. Sometimes… Sometimes I see flashes of you shine through so brightly I can’t understand how I ever doubted you.” 

She stood, speechless and humbled and in that moment all of the distrust and hurt, the scorn and the distance seemed to fade away and she suddenly felt like a little girl once again, trailing along behind him with mussed hair and dirt on her dress. Though she did not say anything immediately, she suspected her face gave her away because he stepped closer and drew her into his arms and wrapped her in a hug so familiar she felt tears prickle at her eyes. 

Her arms were slow to respond- it was the first hug she could remember since before her fathers’ death and it was almost alien to embrace someone in such a way. Still, it was pleasant and she relaxed fully into his arms. “I’ve missed you too Jon.” She whispered and it was a start. 

XXX

A week later Arya sat bolt upright from where she lay reclining on her bed, sharpening her finger knife with a small stone. She slipped over the edge, thankful that her restlessness meant she was still fully dressed, despite the late hour. As soon as she entered the hallway she knew her instincts were right, as the normal sounds of guards shifting and the scuffing of boots was absent in the darkness of the night. The lanterns had all been extinguished and an inky blackness made the space seem infinitely larger than she knew it to be. She briefly considered returning to her room to gather a light source but did not want to take the time nor lose the advantage she would have in the darkness. 

She moved like a phantom, silent and invisible, as she made her way to Jon and Daenerys’ rooms. She arrived in mere seconds and could see faint movement outside the queen’s door. She cursed silently in her head, wondering how exactly they had managed to remove the half dozen guards that were normally posted along the hall and two that always stood by the Queen and King to be. 

A line of light became visible as one of the men slowly started to push the heavy wood open. Faint as it was, it allowed her to make out the other five men standing in something of a formation and ready to enter the room. She slipped behind the one at the end of the line and waited until the right second. As soon as she saw the opportunity she pushed herself up, covering his mouth and nostrils with her hand and pressing her finger knife under the base of his skull, severing his brain stem and killing him instantly and silently. She lowered him carefully to the ground, unwilling to make the noise to drag him away and simply hoped the others would not turn around before she was ready. 

Once finished, she stepped over his discarded body and repeated the actions with the second man. She made it to the fourth before she was caught. He was taller than the others and turned just as she started to grab him. He was able to break away from her and draw the attention of the two still living. Caught out, she ducked back, slipping her small knife back under the sleeve of her tunic and drawing the two long, narrow daggers she was carrying. 

The man who had been opening the door gestured to the others as he drew it closed once again. They moved in tandem, coming towards her from both sides. They were handsome men, she noticed absently, and moved with a liquid grace most did not possess. They attacked simultaneously and without warning, the one on the right swinging at chest height and the one on the left aiming towards her legs. She was able to bypass both blades, blades she noticed had a gleam of black along the sharpened edge. Her lip curled into something of a sneer and bloodlust pooled liquid fire in her belly. 

She waited until the struck again but instead of dodging back again as they would expect darted towards the man on the left, catching his blade with the dagger in her left and pinning his hand against the wall. Before he could compensate for the hold she swung with her other arm and opened a neat line of crimson across his throat. He dropped heavily to the ground, gurgling and choking but she paid him no mind as she turned fully towards her other opponent. She glanced over his shoulder to see the first man apparently deciding to move forward with the plot and begin opening the queen’s door once again. “Daenerys!” She yelled in a powerful voice, even as she came to trade blows. 

Startled shuffling could be heard through the partially open door and the first man shot her a vicious look as he entered the room, forgoing his silent approach for efficiency. Arya redoubled her efforts, using every trick she could until she saw a gap in his defenses and she was able to press one of her blades in-between his thighs and slice open both of his femoral arteries with one motion. He let out a shocked grunt but tried to power through the pain of it. Her aim was true however, and he dropped heavily to the ground. She pushed him over with the sole of her boot, pulling his hands away from the profusely bleeding wounds. His blade had dropped unnoticed to the floor. She kicked it down the hall and then darted towards the now open door of the Queens rooms. 

Luckily the queen had good sense to bar the door to her bedchambers and the first man was trying to force it open with his shoulder. She was aware of the sound of Jons door opening in the background and rushed footsteps coming towards them but she did not spare any time. The man turned to face her and she came upon him and met her blade for blade. 

“I’m going to enjoy killing you.” He snarled out in a heavily accented voice. 

The smirk that curled her lips spoke for her silence and she crouched lower in anticipation. The came together suddenly and furiously, silence cast off and replaced by the loud clash of steel on steel. She met him blow for blow, mentally contemplating whether or not she should leave him alive for questioning. Logically, she knew she should, but bloodlust was a powerful temptation. 

She tilted her body and moved their fight closer to the center of the room with more space to maneuver. Her eyes left his for a split second as she took in the rest of the area and planned out her next moves. He was getting angry and desperate. Jon had moved over to Daenerys door dressed in naught but a loose night shirt, sword in hand and prepared to defend his betrothed should his sister fail. 

She waited... waited… waited and then it happened. He overpowered his swing in his frustration and had to follow the blade around full circle in order to not lose his flow and she was ready. As soon as the tip of his sword came back around she stepped in closer and struck it back as hard as she could, forcing him to show her his back for a scant second. She took another step forward and kicked the hilt of his sword. His already unbalanced hold failed him and the weapon hit the floor several feet away. 

He was much larger than her and so she stepped on the back of his well-muscled calf and used it to wrap her left arm around his neck. Her weight and the hold forced him to one knee and she anticipated him going for his secondary weapon. As she had already noticed he favored his right hand, she was ready to block and twist the small dagger away from his as soon as he drew it from his boot. 

He tried to stand, to wrench her off but she squeezed tighter and kept the point of her boot dug into the back of his knee. His struggles started to weaken as a troupe of guards finally arrived at the door, wide eyed and pale. She lowered her mouth to rest against his ear and whispered in a dark, lethal tone, “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” 

She held tight until he stopped moving and slumped forward- then she mentally started to count to five. Once she was sure he was truly unconscious she let go of him and stepped gracefully back. He slumped to the floor, bruises already blooming on his throat. “Right then.” She stated taking in the rest of the room. Daenerys had emerged at Jons urging and the entry way was practically bursting with guards and unsullied alike. “You may want to restrain him before he wakes.” She said, gesturing to the heap on the floor. Her voice was still velvety and she cleared her throat softly. “Now. Would someone care to explain why exactly there were no guards stationed in this wing?” 

“Yes.” The queen spoke up for the first time, voice slightly weaker than normal, but not noticeably by most. “I too would like an answer to that question.” A clamor of voices broke out, denials, apologies and blame being flung around so rapidly that she could not keep straight who was claiming what. She shook her head in disgust and turned once more towards the queen. “Your Grace.” She nodded her head at the blonde. “I do apologize for the bloody boot prints but if you do not mind, I would like to take my leave.” 

“Yes, of course. I thank you, Arya. We will discuss this all tomorrow.” She turned to the mass of people that had quieted. “Have the bodies removed and this one taken to the black cells. Reset a new guard in the hall and double the guards at all entrances to this building, including the servant passages. You are all dismissed.” 

Chaos followed, men moving in all directions. Arya took advantage of it and slipped back out into the hallway. Someone had relit the torches and so the bodies and still spreading puddle of blood were brightly lit and harsh looking. Still, if not for the blood, the first three would simply look like they’d fallen asleep on the floor. She was pretty proud of that. 

When she arrived at her room she found Jaime leaning casually against the wall beside the door. He was dressed in simple breeches, tunic and boots with his sword strapped to his side. She stopped in front of him and could see his eyes run the length of her. Somehow she did not think he was looking for wounds. Her heart was still beating harder than normal and the fire still smoldering in her loins. She tilted her head considering him and allowed her own eyes to trail his own well-built body. 

Mind made up, she stepped closer still and ran a finger lightly from the hollow of his throat and down his breastbone. His head tilted down towards and his lips curled but he did not move. She rose up on her toes and brushed against his stubbly cheek with her nose, breathing in the smell of him as the swell of her breast pressed the slightest bit against abdomen. She felt her nipples harden at the contact and she moved just slightly to tease herself. 

“Would you care for a nightcap?” She whispered against his ear. She pulled back to watch his bright eyes darken in want and knew she had him. She pulled back and entered her room, listening to him enter behind. 

“What might your brother think? His sweet little sister inviting men into her chambers long after is proper?” She raised a brow at him from where she stood pouring two glasses of wine. Their fingers brushed at she handed him his. Arya took a drink, still maintaining eye contact with him. He took a small sip of his own before setting it down beside him and moving towards her. He reached up and stroked the long messy braid that had come half undone during the fight and lay in a messy tangle on her shoulder. 

“You’re glowing.” He stated, voice husky. 

“Am I?” Her chin tilted and it was true. Her eyes were a bright, gleaming silver. A flush was visible high on her cheeks, more obvious as her tan had begun to fade. The loosened, mussed strands of hair framed her face and if there happened to be a dried drop of blood or two on her cheek bone well, he was hardly one to care. Energy flowed through her veins and she itched with restlessness. 

“Mmm” was his only reply before met her offered lips with his own, tentative at first. For all the leading up to this there had been over the weeks, neither had been sure they would actually end up here. The pull between them had proven strong and really it was inevitable. The hesitance lasted but a breath and their passion soon ignited in truth- her’s largely a result of the lingering rush, but she’d be lying if she said that was all- and his in something like awe of the tiny little slip of a wench with a mouth fouler than a dock side pub and strong enough to back it up. Born a lady, with a childhood akin to a street urchin and then trained as an assassin. There could be no other like her and her uniqueness was glorious. 

And he, who’d been born heir to one of the wealthiest and most successful families in history, brought up with every opportunity, with a literal golden spoon in his mouth and a jewel encrusted sword at his side. A Lannister Lion- son of Tywin Lannister himself, arguably the most successful Lannister of all. 

He was a Kingslayer. An oathbreaker. A coward. He’d had to stand by and guard the man who ordered the thoughtless burning of his people like he passed breath. Men, women, children- it did not matter. He’d laugh as they screamed. He still dreamt of it at times, when the darkness grabbed a hold of him and refused to let go. He’d dream of the moment he was ordered to bring the king his own fathers head and he’d dream of the seconds leading up to that one fateful moment- he guilt, his fear and his grief... But also his rage, his self-loathing and his absolute determination that this monster be stopped. 

He’d been hardly more than a boy then. The youngest Kingsguard in history. It’d been honorable, something to be proud of but everything changed the moment he chose to slay the King he’d sworn to protect with his own life. Events like that, they changed a person. They left behind a residue, a slimy feeling that lodged itself in your gut and reared up to choke you at the worst moments. He knew, he absolutely knew that he had done the right thing but that was a cold comfort in the dark of night when the hours were long and spent between restless, nightmare filled sleep and staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

Life had become something of a burden to bear, meaningless in its cycle. Having a queen to serve gave him a purpose to his day but not much beyond. He moved through mindlessly, uncaring of much beyond preforming the tasks given to him. In truth, it was a good job for one to be mindless as most of his responsibilities involved standing in one place for long hours and monitoring his fluid intake leading up to an assignment so that he didn’t have to stand with a full bladder. 

He hadn’t known what to think of her at first. She’d enticed his attention from the beginning, a bright spark against the dreary backdrop of his typical day and then not only did she keep it but she nourished it without knowing as their meeting bloomed into many, many more. He’d observed her at first from a distance, watching her well trained reactions and purposeful movements. She’d slouch a certain way and he’d see her eyes flicker for the briefest of seconds to her leg, where he’d seen the outline of some type of holster under her gown, or she’d charm someone with her wit and grace in one moment and then lose it completely once she though herself unobserved. She was amazing. 

The attraction between them was obvious, the pull strong and the flirtation undeniable if pressed. Despite that, some barrier had remained between the two, preventing them from taking this physical step. But as her lips pressed against his, slightly chapped but lush and soft, that barrier shattered. 

He caught a whiff of the cinnamon bark oil he knew she used in her home made mixture for oiling her weapons and felt himself begin to harden in his breeches. His golden arm curled around her lower back and his other moved to grasp her hip. He pressed harder and she responded beautifully. Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck, she stood on her toes once more, pushing up and pressing her chest against his firm muscles and she ran a hand through his shaggy hair. 

They moved backwards slowly, almost without notice, until she came to rest against a blank stretch of wall. His good hand moved up, running reverently up her side to brush teasingly against the very edge of her breast on its way to cup her jaw. 

The kiss deepened and their tongues danced together for the first time. His thickly corded thigh moved to press between her legs and the pressure caused her to clench involuntarily as her core throbbed with want. She felt his arm come to rest under her and a flash of hesitation struck her as he thought he was preparing to lift her against the wall. 

He didn’t. Instead he lifted her effortlessly with the one arm, good hand stroking up and down her back, dipping lower and lower with each stroke and she turned and moved them into her bedchamber. He didn’t exactly drop her onto the soft bed, but it definitely wasn’t a graceful motion. Neither minded as his body followed hers closely down, granting them both pleasurable pressure as he came to rest between her smooth, shapely thighs. 

Arya was the first to move to the clothing, grasping his tunic and pulling it over his head without warning. Rather than be discouraged, he used the pause to move his mouth over her jaw and to her neck, tasting her as he went. He continued down her collar bone, loosening the ties of her top as he descended. The structure of the top meant there was nothing under but a thin, white slip of a cloth that did nothing to contain her breasts as their bindings came lose. 

She shrugged out of the outer shirt but he grabbed the white slip himself, jumping down to kiss her belly and then moving back up as he revealed her flesh. He wasted no time in drawing his nose along the soft, fragile skin before tasting her passion hardened bud. He teased her to an almost painful intensity before moving to the other side, drawing free a surprised gasp when he paused to nip at the flesh over her ribs. 

Her own hands were far from idle and she worked on memorizing the feel of him. She could feel her wetness spreading from her folds and she let out a breathless plea at the sensation. She could feel his smirk against her but he did begin moving once again, lower and lower still, until he was pealing the cloth from her legs and revealing herself fully to him. 

She spared a brief thought to what he would think of her body, small and compact and smooth muscles, body hair groomed in the fashion of the Braavos and much less abundant that a westerner would be familiar with. Though by the heat in his eyes and the intent behind the hand pressing her thighs up and apart, she did not think he minded in the least. 

The first touch of his tongue hit directly over her pulsing core and the shock of it physically jarred her. He was relentless, however, and pinned her hips down and he continued his soft but firm movements. She was already so on edge she felt herself clench and tip over the edge within seconds of that perfect pressure. Another surge of warmth left her and she squirmed against the silken sheets. 

He withdrew slightly, moving over to kiss the sensitive, smooth skin of her inner thigh. His stubble was the sweetest torture in those seconds but did not remain long. As soon as her tense body relaxed back into the bed he moved back over, sealing his mouth over her and sucking, even as his tongue moved back and forth over the nub. 

She convulsed, a wounded moan emerging from her throat as her body curled up and around his head, torn between pushing him away and pressing him closer. He pulled back seconds later and began working on her again. She nearly sobbed at the overwhelming sensation as the very tip of one finger came to tease, just at her entrance. He did not penetrate her, but ran his finger back and forth over the seal of her lips, tipping between them just enough to feel but not what her body was yearning for. 

Still, as he sealed his mouth over her once again and pressed just the slightest bit in she felt herself explode again, a sob truly breaking free as he pulled back but continued to rub at her, forcing the convulsions to continue in muted waves. She did not know when he had managed to remove his pants, but his broad head pressing into her soaked and desperate opening, even as she clenched down again, was the best thing she ever felt. 

He seated himself fully in one smooth, unbroken motion and the stilled. He scarcely moved at first, seeming to enjoy feeling her through her aftershocks. “Gods, but you’re fucking gorgeous.” He murmured so quietly she wasn’t sure if it was meant for her to hear. She could feel every broad inch of him inside her, stretching just enough to not be painful. His hand, still damp with her juices, came up to rub at her nibble, hardening it even farther if that was possible. He pressed her back down, the motion shifting him a tearing a noise from each of them. 

Their mouths came together once more as be began to move, rocking at first and then building steadily. All the while he played with her, golden hand under her lower back and holding her close to him while his good hand alternated between teasing her teats and rubbing her mound. She could feel the wet running down her legs and she wanted to be embarrassed but couldn’t at her body’s unrestrained response to him. 

He shifted even closer, palming her leg and drawing it up higher and tucking it under his arm. The changed position allowed him to slide just a bit deeper and the added penetration tipped her over the edge once again, into an orgasm she did not know she was even capable of having. He continued to pound into her, the slam of his hips moving her slightly up the bed with each thrust. Thankfully he finally relented in his torture of her and moved to simply brace her slighter frame against his as his hips stuttered and slowed. 

It was several long moments before he drew back again and he pressed his lips softly to hers once more before pulling free. The removal of his member allowed their mixed essences to escape her body and run sluggishly towards the mattress as she lay sprawl legged and thrumming. 

She could still feel the channel he bored into her and she clenched herself just to poke at the feeling. She did not fall asleep then- she was too well trained for that, but she did fall into something of a doze, with her eyes closed and her senses muted. He moved to the wash basin and remained across the room for a brief time before joining her back on the bed and using a soft cloth to wipe up the worst of the mess. She granted him a sleepy smile and hummed as he joined her and curled around her upper body, drawing her head to lay on his chest. 

And later, when she felt the stirrings begin again, he definitely did not mind when she moved them around and mounted him, setting the pace and quickly bringing them both to another peek. If anything his heavy eyes, sleepy appreciation and the way he grabbed onto her after showed a definite willingness to repeat the experience. 

She was looking forward to it. 

XXX To be continued XXX


End file.
